


My Pestilence (SCP x Reader)

by Alpha049_96



Series: SCP Alternate Universe [1]
Category: SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation
Genre: Fantasy, Horror, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpha049_96/pseuds/Alpha049_96
Summary: You, dear reader... YOU decide the fate of your beloved or cruel world that lies in the palm of your hands... What is your choice? Will you shower the lands and fill the oceans with the quenching waters from the heavens above? Will we coexist with the anomalies said to plague our lands? Will cities burn and crumble to my touch because you've refused my bidding? Will everything, including the SCPs -- including YOU -- reduce to whitened ash, all because your futile attempts led to the Pestilence withering in your veins?(This is a male OR female reader. I would've attempted a multiple-ending story, but that's too much work for this one. I'll think about it for the other SCP x Reader I'm planning.)
Series: SCP Alternate Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785301
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	1. I am Alpha

The doctor clad in a tan suit pulls the metal chair, its legs screeching against the hard ground of the boxed interrogation room. His brown hair is neatly combed, his dark eyes hard and piercing.  


The SCP can tell he is business, and possibly, nothing more. The SCP’s shackled wrists clink as it clasps its black, gloved hands together, tapping its black, steel-toed boot.  


“Are you bored?” the doctor asks, his voice as hard as his stare.  


The SCP’s masked head only tilts, the black holes for eyes expressing no emotion. It straightens as the doctor sits. The SCP, clothed in black attire, is humanoid in shape. Its mask is pure white but painted with black tears and a red smile.  


“I am Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian,” the doctor speaks as he, too, clasps his hands together. The SCP shifts as it realizes the man becomes relaxed.  


“You’re new.” The SCP’s voice is muffled from behind its mask, its voice noticeably feminine, silky, and with a serious undertone. “You aren’t afraid?”  


“Why would I be?”  


The SCP yanks her hands upwards, the chains clinking as they prevent her limbs from going three inches above the table. The table shudders from her force, and Cimmerian’s eyes glance at her action.  


“You would be if it weren’t for these.” The SCP leans back, as far as her restraints would let her. “Now, get on with it.”  


Dr. Cimmerian frowns but glances at his clipboard. He crosses his arms. “Explain to me about your origins.”  


“I’ve explained multiple times, doctor.” The SCP seemingly glares at Cimmerian. “Don’t you keep my answers cataloged?”  


“Just answer the question, 049-96.” Cimmerian’s tone drips with impatience, but just barely enough so that only the SCP notices… and not the staff behind the one-way glass pane.  


SCP-049-96 sighs. “What specifically?”  


“Anything in particular. Your birth, for example.”  


049-96 shakes her head. “Oh, no, I wasn’t _born_ , doctor. I was _created_. Hasn’t Dr. Howe given you his footnotes about my prophecy, mm? No… Zeus crafted me out of clay and brought me to life via magic. He gifted me _immortality_ and gave me a purpose.”  


“And what is your purpose?” Cimmerian tilts his head.  


“Again, the _prophecy_ , dear doctor.” 049-96 taps an index finger on the table. “Howe can teach you.” 049-96 waves a shackled hand and shakes her head. “I’m not destined for anything particular really. Time is not a continuous line. It is my actions or my peers’ actions that determine what branch I climb upon. Time branches with the force of a current, and you must surrender to the current. Surely, as a scientist, _you_ should know that. I can coexist with this world… I can help it… I can save it… or I can _destroy_ it.”  


“Assuming you escape,” the doctor mutters as he scans his clipboard.  


049-96 growls and then bangs a fist on the table.  


The doctor jumps, but his eyes remain on his clipboard. He looks at the tensed SCP. “So, you’re immortal?”  


“Not in the way you think I am.”  


“Do you plan to escape, 049-96?”  


“No.”  


The intercom in the interrogation room buzzes and a female voice strictly replies, “ _049-96, if you are planning to escape, you must share it with us._ ” The intercom clicks off.  


The SCP scoffs. “If I was planning to escape, I would’ve been out a long time ago. No, I have plans, but not to escape.”  


“Will you elaborate your plans, 049-96?”  


The SCP ominously chuckles, as if he said a joke, her shoulders shaking slightly. “No. But I will say that you must look closer into my prophecy, doctor. After all, what I _will_ say is that one of your fellow D-Classes falls underneath a specific category in my prophecy. Maybe Howe didn’t write it down… _Unnamed, they rise from bloodshed. Unnamed, they follow the weapon. The weapon of the weapon, soon to be freed of imprisonment to direct the path of the world’s end…_ ”  


“And you think it is someone here?”  


“Read between the lines, doctor. It’s clear as day.” The SCP taps her foot.  


“What do you mean, ‘the world’s end’?”  


049-96 shrugs. “It could mean anything.”  


Cimmerian rolls his eyes with a sigh and looks at his clipboard. “Moving on… What is your connection with SCP-096?”  


“This question again?” The SCP sighs. “It’s merely gratuitous to ask a question you already know the answer to, doctor.”  


“Enlighten me, 049-96.”  


The SCP inhales. “We have a bond. A mother-son bond, to sum it up. He needs love, he needs to know he’s cared about… he’s too late to be saved, but it isn’t too late for him to be helped. I do say I care about him, like a mother to her child… a _good_ mother, anyway.”  


“How about your relationship with SCP-049?”  


049-96 shifts, twisting a leg over her other one. “He and I are close friends.”  


“What did you two talk about during 096’s containment breach?”  


“I simply promised to help him with his endeavors, hence why the 05 Council has granted me permission for a supervised, two-hour visit daily. Such a shame I can only visit 096 for thirty minutes daily.”  


“049-96, don’t get sidetracked.”  


The SCP’s mask tilts, almost glaring at the doctor. “Fine. We just talked.”  


“Yet, we found 049’s DNA on his operating table… mind explaining that, 049-96?”  


“We had an experiment,” she immediately responds.  


“Camera footage disagrees entirely.” Cimmerian shakes his head with a scoff. “What a show you two provided… yet 049 became extremely agitated when Dr. Bosch asked it about the ‘experiment’. In fact, it even tried to attack him.”  


“Bosch is infected…”  


“So _you_ can sense this ‘Pestilence”?”  


“Heavens, no. But that’s the only reason he attempted to attack, knowing him. Our experiment wouldn’t have made him agitated, just more so… _uncomfortable_. We do not speak of it publically.”  


“And based on those actions, 049-96, you won’t be speaking to him privately anytime soon.” Cimmerian flips some papers over his clipboard. The SCP narrowly misses some of the information about her file.  


“Moving on… how about 035? I heard you two chatted quite fondly.”  


“Oh, yes. We have common opinions about the Greeks. Also, the Romans,” she adds in a low growl. “I digress, he and I were forged by the gods; him as a gift, me as a weapon.”  


“173?”  


“The only reason he didn’t attack me is because I understood him. He’s a lot more intelligent than you think… he _can_ be reasoned with.”  


“682?”  


“He also can be reasoned with, if you have his intentions in mind.”  


“Why did you plan to escape with it?”  


The SCP shifts again, tilting her head. “I had to say something to get him on my side.”  


“Your… side?”  


“Yes… as the new SCP of this facility, I _have_ to leave a good impression somehow.”  


“079?”  


“He sheds some light on humanity, and he was interested in my origins… but I doubt he’ll remember.”  


“Yet it remembers _you_ vividly. It keeps requesting to see you.”  


“He did the same with 682, yet you deny him that. Why deny me?”  


“We don’t want to risk it. You’re intelligent and powerful when you want to be, 049-96… and given 079 can help you breach containment, we don’t want to risk it.”  


SCP-049-96 sighs and shakes her head. “Now, now, doctor, you treat us as if we are prisoners --”  


“You _are_.”  


Her mask seemingly glares for a long time, her body still and tensed dangerously. Finally, she speaks after twenty seconds; “The SCPs -- as you call them -- are _beyond_ your levels of understanding, doctor. We are not slaves. We are not animals. We are _far_ more superior than you think we are. We are the original rulers… you are merely the mortal children of gods, weakening as time goes on. It’s no wonder Khahrahk wants to destroy humanity… humans have _poisoned_ our once beloved world.”  


Cimmerian leans back, surprise plastering his face. “How do you know about SCP-001? All information about it is classified.”  


“Any superior being -- or SCPs, as you call them -- knows the tales. We also know about his pregnant children, or as you call them, SCP-231 one through seven. All are dead, and two of their children remain captive _here_ , yes? Yes… the Nearly Indestructible Lizard and… ‘ _Tickles_ ’, I hear some staff call the depression-curing SCP. Anyway, the Greek gods told me about him, the _Scarlet King_ as some people call him. Let me ask something, doctor, do you know about demons?”  


“They exist.” Cimmerian leans forward, staring intently at the sentient SCP. “They originated in many religions, mostly Christianity. Speaking of which, your thoughts on SCP-343?”  


“Yes, _God_ ,” the SCP replies. “Or he claims to be God, at least.” She sighs and leans forward. “I’d like to resume back to the Scarlet King, doctor.”  


Cimmerian glances at his watch. “I’m afraid not.” He grunts as he stands and grabs his clipboard. “Facility guards will transport you back to your cell now. We are out of time, and I need to head back to Site-17.”  


“Tell me about dragons, sir.”  


The doctor halts, his mouth parting in surprise at the SCP’s sudden politeness, her voice calm and soft. The doctor glances at her file and then to the one-way glass pane. He can’t see behind the glass, but he knows the researchers are there. He looks at SCP-049-96. She patiently sits, and though her mask shields any emotion, her body (no longer tensed) relaxes and gives a calming vibe.  


“They are mythical creatures… yet I’ve known a few sites to house dragon-like creatures and even a water dragon. Your file states you have a fascination for SCP-1762.”  


“The origami dragons, yes.” The SCP looks away from the doctor, her breaths soft. “I heard about the Jabberwocky Event. Do you realize that dragons are sentient and are the most powerful beings in the universe? Gods were born of their blood, not the opposite way around. Dragons _are_ gods.”  


“Yet, if legends are true, they all died… gods are said to be immortal, 049-96.” Cimmerian tilts his head.  


“Not in the way you think,” the SCP softly retorts, shaking her head gently. “Yes, humans killed them off, but because of their heinous actions to the environment. Humans plagued the world with pollution and war… Khahrahk is the _original_ dragon. Yet, he was an evil dragon. The other dragons formed a protective shield around our world and gave balance. The world has long forgotten dragons, has long forgotten its gods, its superiors, and its demons. Dr. Cimmerian…” SCP-049-96 looks at the doctor, her unnerving stare tensing the doctor.  


“My name is Alpha, _not_ SCP-049-96. I am the savior or destroyer of worlds, and I deliver this message personally.” SCP-049-96 shifts and speaks sternly:  


“ _Here were dragons._ ”


	2. To Escape Death

(F/N)’s heart flutters, causing (him/her) to startle awake from (his/her) uncomfortable mattress. (F/N) sits up, tugging at (his/her) orange jumpsuit, sweating profusely. (F/N)’s hand wipes at (his/her) soaked collarbone, feeling the sweat that coats (his/her) body.  


(F/N) looks at the reason for (his/her) sudden rousing; a facility guard clad in grey camouflage, a bulletproof vest and knee pads, and a motorcycle-like helmet opens the metal, windowless door with his keycard. (F/N) eyes the keycard, staring at the small rectangle as if it was an appetizing, foreign dessert. Oh, how (F/N) wishes (he/she) can snatch the card from the guard’s mitts and make a break for it. After all, (F/N) had memorized _everything_ about the facility.  


“D-3421,” the guard's voice booms, condescending and muffled from behind his helmet. “Follow the protocol, and don’t try anything foolish.”  
(F/N) slides off the bed, glaring at the guard while shuffling toward him. (F/N) doesn’t stare for too long, and as (he/she) passes the facility guard, (he/she) breaks eye contact swiftly.  


_It’s no better than challenging a gorilla._  


The orange jumpsuit -- this _prison’s_ uniform -- sticks to (F/N)’s skin, and (he/she) tries brushing (his/her) legs together as (he/she) strides in front of the following guard. This reminds (F/N) of the absence of privacy in this massive foundation; (he/she) can feel the guard’s eyes burn into the back of (his/her) scalp, through the protective keratin of (his/her) (h/l), (h/c) hair.  


(F/N) glances quickly at the guard, snapping (his/her) head back ahead once (he/she) catches a glimpse of the personnel raising his gun.  


The guard that awaits at the end of the hall scans his keycard over a small scanner, the door buzzing and hissing open. (F/N) continues to trek ahead at a steady pace, not willing to piss off the guard behind (him/her). (F/N), after all, developed a good reputation here by following the guard’s commands without as much as a vulgar spout. The guards, due to (F/N)’s compliance, began to take it easy, yet they stayed on edge in case (he/she) would try anything. (F/N), however, has a bad wrap with most inmates here, as they pick on (him/her) and call (him/her) a “pet.”  


(F/N) frowns at the thought, but (he/she) didn’t care in the back of (his/her) mind. Most of these inmates are rapists, murders, and terrorists, anyway, so their opinions don’t matter. It’s hard to find a place to sit in the cafeteria, as sitting at a table can bring unwanted attention, and sitting in a corner can get (F/N) easily cornered. (F/N) stays by the staff and eats standing.  


As (F/N) rounds a curving hall of the building, (he/she) glances back at the guard. (F/N) recognizes they are heading toward the elevator. “Am I allowed to ask where we are going, sir?” (he/she) asks politely. (F/N) has pretended to be polite for so long, that (he/she) no longer sounded like (he/she) was faking.  


The guard grunts, but his voice is soft; “You’re going to be doing some chores for us in Sublevel 2, D-3421.”  


“What kind of chores, sir?”  


“You’ll see.”  


(F/N) grits (his/her) teeth, waiting as the guard at the end of the hall opens the electromagnetic door, and (he/she) walks through. _Sublevel 2,_ (F/N) thinks. (F/N) knows what Sublevel 2 is. Sublevel 1 is the closest to the surface, but that’s where all the D-Classes are imprisoned. Sublevel 2 runs deeper, where it holds Safe-Classed SCPs. Sublevel 3, (F/N) has only been to once (but had to be escorted up since [he/she] broke into a brutal fight with another inmate), and (F/N) has heard that’s where they keep Euclid-Class SCPs and some Keters. (F/N) has heard of Sublevel 4, but its contents are classified. (F/N) can only assume it’s where they imprison the _big_ ones.  


(F/N) steps into the room, the massive, domed room embellished with potted plants, framed pictures, and a few desks. A large, rectangular glass tube propels straight above into the ceiling, the small, metal box of an elevator welcoming with its agape maw. Without an order from the facility guard behind (F/N), (he/she) strides into the elevator with the guard, footsteps echoing within the death-box. The guard clicks the down arrow, the elevator hushing its doors closed and descending. (F/N) feels (himself/herself) lighten as the elevator slightly rises, the gears and ropes within the glass tube working to descend. (F/N)’s stomach flutters, feeling (his/her) organs lose weight, both a scary and fun feeling one experiences when ascending or descending in an elevator.  


The elevator bounces ever so slightly, and (F/N)’s heart jumps at the sudden movement, despite it being ever so slight. The elevator dings and hisses open its doors. The guard nudges (F/N)’s back with the rifle’s nozzle, and (F/N) steps forward.  


“Dr. Howe’s office,” the guard says to (F/N).  


(F/N) nods, having been in Howe’s office many times before for the specific SCP. (F/N) treks ahead, passing guards that open doors for the duo until they reach the courtroom. The courtroom, being connected to the researchers’ offices, gave (F/N) the ability to open the doors without the guard’s consent. They needed no keycard.  


The guard stays close behind, (F/N)’s (e/c) eyes scanning the plaques aside the offices’ doors for a “Dr. Lance Howe.” Once (F/N) finds it at the edge of the room, door wide open, (he/she) looks at the guard, head tilted. “Is Dr. Howe doing something?”  


The guard nods. “He’s busy, but he left the bowl in his minifridge beneath the counter of his office. It has everything for SCP-529, and you have to feed her.”  


(F/N) smiles and strides into the office. It was neat and clean, a Roomba silently hunting for dust bunnies around his floors. His desk stations at the wall, his flat-screen computers off and noticeably wiped. Even his pencils and pens are organized, by either color or durability. (F/N) has always known Howe to be compulsive, and somewhat germaphobic. He never missed the smallest details. (F/N) spots the small minifridge next to the dest, its shine reflecting the flat lights above. Not a single fingerprint or smudge on the handles. (F/N) looks over, a fluffy, blue cat bed on top of the counter, the familiar, cute SCP curled within it. Her head perks up, the cat’s ears twitching, her eyes narrowed with tiredness. Her front paws flex and she stretches. The noticeable feature about this SCP is that she has no back end; her body ends at her stomach, yet she walks and functions normally. The researchers allow her to roam Sublevel 2, as her personality consists of that to a regular housecat. While researchers do claim it’s unprofessional to call SCPs by their nicknames, even the most stubborn personnel still call SCP-529 by her nickname, _Josie_.  


Josie widens her mouth, a large yawn with a cute squeak, the yawn so big her eyes squeeze shut. (F/N) can’t help but smile as (he/she) approaches the minifridge. Respecting Howe’s personal space, (F/N) yanks an elastic glove from the nearby glove box, using it to open the fridge without putting (his/her) essence on it. (F/N) grabs the bowl with (his/her) other hand, and (he/she) pauses when (he/she) hears deep footsteps. Glancing back, (F/N) relaxes once (he/she) sees it is only the guard patrolling around the doorway. (F/N) pulls out the bowl, Josie already up from her bed. Her two limbs quickly stride toward (F/N), her yellow eyes gentle and calm. (F/N) sets the bowl full of diced, raw chicken and salmon, drenched with what smells like a raw egg. Josie lowers herself a bit, her missing back end rising as her head lowers into the bowl. She snaps and purrs affectionately while happily eating the food. (F/N) cannot help but grin widely.  


“D-3421,” the guard speaks, and (F/N)’s face falls into a blank expression as (he/she) looks at the facility guard. “Time to move on. Follow me to SCP-999’s chambers.”  


The guard waits a bit until (F/N) walks close enough to him, and then (F/N) follows him. _SCP-999?_ (F/N) frowns a bit, never having met this SCP. (He/She) has only seen Josie, and pictures of SCP-131 A and B. But like every other SCP in this foundation, (F/N) has heard of SCP-999. (He/She) has overheard other inmates speak fondly of it, even the most depressed of the inmates seemed happy to talk about it, and some prisoners call it “ _Tickles_.”  


(F/N) and the facility guard travels through corridors for some time, until they reach a large, empty room occupied by two other facility guards. The room views into another room with a large glass pane, a locked metal door right by the window. A digital, slim panel says above the door “SCP-999” in green print. The guard that led (F/N) scanned his card over the door, gesturing (F/N) inside. (F/N) goes into the cell -- or _pen_ , rather -- and the guard keeps the door open. Once inside, it didn’t look like a cell. The walls are painted and decorated with kid drawings, and dog toys scatter the grounds.  


(F/N) hears a sludging sound, and (his/her) heart immediately jumps as a slimy sensation clings onto one of (his/her) shins. (F/N) would’ve tried to shoo the orange, slimy monster with beady black orbs off, but suddenly (his/her) heart lightens, and (he/she) couldn’t help but start wheezing and laughing.  


It was tickling (him/her). It didn’t stop, and (F/N) didn’t want it to stop. The massive orange blob sputters nonsense, but happy nonsense. It seems to be giggling, too. (F/N) topples over, Tickles’ stubby arms suddenly attacking at (F/N)’s sides, tickling more than ever. (F/N) has no choice but to fall to the ground, pleading the tickle monster to stop, (F/N) on the verge of happy tears.  


Tickles suddenly moves away, giving (F/N) time to calm down and catch (his/her) breath. (F/N) huffs and sits up, suddenly hearing footsteps in the pen. (F/N) looks away from Tickles, the orange slime playing with a purple ball, and (F/N) watches a woman in a white lab coat approach. She holds some yellow rubber gloves and sponge in one hand, and a blue bucket with soapy water in the other. She sets them down beside (F/N). The D-Class looks at her nametag; “Dr. Meredith Bowl”. (F/N) looks at her hazel eyes and blond hair, studying her hourglass figure for a moment before the female doctor clears her throat.  


“D-3421,” she speaks, her voice smooth, and Tickles blabbers happily in the background as it drums its stubby arms on its toy bongos. (F/N) glances at Tickles, not fighting a smile, and then looks at the scientist with a blank look. She points at the cleaning supplies. “Clean the drawings off the walls, please.”  


(F/N) stands and frowns. “Wouldn’t Tickles be mad?”  


The researcher cocks her head, pursing her lips. “... SCP-999 needs more room to draw on the walls. It doesn’t mind.” She turns and heads toward the door. “Plus, most of those drawings don’t belong to it. 053 did most of them.”  


(F/N) doesn’t bother to ask about 053, as the scientist just disappeared from the door. (F/N) heard of 053 through the facility guards’ gossip, and all (he/she) truly knows about the SCP is that it’s a Euclid four-year-old girl that was attacked by a D-Class.  


(F/N) shakes (his/her) head, pushing (his/her) thoughts away from it. (He/She) dons the gloves and tosses the yellow sponge in the bucket, water splashing onto (his/her) sleeves. (F/N) grabs the bucket and hauls it over to the wall with awful and colorful drawings about two feet off the ground. Muttering to (himself/herself), (F/N) wrings the sponge and then aggressively scrubs at the drawings. Some drawings came off with no problem, while others had caused (F/N) to break into a sweat.  


But (F/N) never got upset, as Tickles would sometimes check up on (him/her) and tickle at (his/her) calves. The tickle monster would always make sure (F/N) feels happy while (he/she) worked. (F/N) giggles when Tickles bleps and sputters, “Bllepthf.”  


Despite how ugly and monstrous this large blob looks in (F/N)’s view, its personality and actions diminishes those crude thoughts. Tickles is a monster worth its name.  


After a long while (but time went faster once Tickles intervened), (F/N) finished scrubbing the walls. No guard or researcher tried to stop Tickles from distracting (F/N), and a glance at the window revealed Dr. Bowl taking notes whenever Tickles would interrupt (his/her) chore.  


When it was time to go, (F/N) had a hard time leaving. Not only did (he/she) want to spend more time with the “curer of depression,” Tickles had latched on to (F/N)’s leg. It took a little longer than needed, but Dr. Bowl eventually coaxed Tickles away from (F/N) with a baggy of M&Ms.  


As (F/N) leaves the pen, (his/her) guard turns to (him/her) as another duo enters the room. It is another guard, and the way he walks boldly suggests he does not joke around. With him is another D-Class, a man with a light build, brown hair and green eyes. (F/N) reads the code on the left pec of his jumpsuit; D-9842.  


(F/N)’s guard glances at them and then looks at (F/N). “You have one more chore today with D-9842 here and D-9341. After this, you may be done for the day and head to the cafeteria for lunch. Understand?”  


(F/N) nods and follows the two guards, walking beside D-9842. He doesn’t speak nor glance at (F/N) as if any contact with (him/her) would cause his guard to shoot him. (F/N) glances at (his/her) guard.  


“Sir, can I ask something?”  


“Shut (him/her) up, Dave,” the other guard sneers.  


(F/N)’s guard, Dave, shrugs. “(He/She)’s fine, Mitch. What is it, D-3421?”  


(F/N) grits (his/her) teeth. “Why did Tickles latch on to me so much?” (F/N) wanted to ask something else, but (he/she) was too afraid.  


Mitch snickers but Dave says nothing as he swipes his keycard over a scanner. The door hisses open and they enter a room with desks, some researchers sitting at them. A large box with covered windows is in the middle, with stairs spiraling down beside the walls of the massive chamber.  


“SCP-999 is most attracted to those with severe depression or PTSD,” Dave answers. “But it expresses interest in anyone that it sees.”  


(F/N) nods and then watches as two new guards strut in with another male D-Class. This one has his head lowered, his hair red.  


_This must be D-9341._  


The guards line them up, and a researcher with brown hair and dark eyes approaches. He studies each D-Class with a stern expression, his jaw clenching with cheekbones protruding. His ID reads “Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian.”  


He introduces himself anyway, his voice soft, monotone, and serious. “I am Dr. Cimmerian. I am in charge of Euclid, Keter, and Thaumiel SCPs.”  


“Thaumiel?” A D-Class beside (F/N), D-9842, asks. “What’s that?”  


Mitch begins to raise a gun but Cimmerian raises a hand, despite having an annoyed expression that the D-Class interrupted. “It means if it escapes containment, it can cause a K-Class event or it has properties useful to the Foundation, or both. A K-Class event is something we _can’t_ prevent.” Cimmerian sighs. “This is a _very_ serious SCP. Despite it being Euclid, it is very hostile when you divert eye contact or even _blink_. That’s why _one_ of you will clean the cell of its blood and feces, while the other two will maintain eye contact with this SCP. You must tell one another if you are to blink.” Cimmerian gives the D-Classes a grave look.  


(F/N) swallows nervously, having never dealt with a Euclid SCP besides SCP-205, and (he/she) only got a glance at that! (F/N) can tell the other two D-Classes twitch.  


Dr. Cimmerian notices but seems unfazed. “I would let you read its file, but there’s only _one_ copy. So, I’ll inform you: SCP-173 is animate and extremely hostile. It cannot move within a direct line of sight and must not be broken at any time. You _must_ alert one another before blinking. If you break line of sight, it will attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull, or on rare occasions, strangulation. Despite it being heavy, it moves inhumanly fast whenever someone breaks line of sight. Now, its cell must be bi-weekly cleaned, as it has a habit to excrete a combination of blood and feces.” Cimmerian looks sincerely at each D-Class. “Now, we will head down. The cleaning supplies are already down there.”  


Dr. Cimmerian gestures to follow, and the D-Classes comply with the guards following behind. The group descends the stairs, and (F/N) cannot help but to keep staring at the cemented chamber the stairs wrap around. The group hits the bottom, the room large and empty with just a massive, steel, remote-controlled door.  


Cimmerian holds the remote. “Once inside, the door will be closed. The guards will remain here, and will escort you all out when finished or in case of emergency.”  


“E-Emergency?” D-9842 stammers, cracking his knuckles.  


“As long as you maintain eye contact, you will be fine,” Cimmerian states. He points to the metal bucket full of soapy warm water, yellow rubber gloves, a rough green sponge, and a mop. “D-9842, you will be cleaning the enclosure. D-3421, D-9341, you two will be in charge of watching SCP-173. Remember to remind each other _before_ blinking.”  


(F/N) bites (his/her) lip and swallows, but nods. (He/She) has been getting a good reputation with the staff here, despite (his/her) termination date at the end of the month. (F/N) doesn’t want to ruin (his/her) reputation. (F/N) doesn’t see if the other two D-Classes confirm if they’re ready, but D-9842 approaches the cleaning supplies. He dons the gloves, slips the sponge in his armpit, and holds the mop and bucket in each hand. Cimmerian presses a button on the remote.  


The massive door buzzes and then slowly rumbles open, the metal doors growling and snarling as they split to the side. (F/N)’s heart nearly freezes at the giant puddles of crimson-brown splotches over the floor, with a terrifying, tan, and bipedal statue at approximately seven feet in height. Its limbs end in stubs, and its head is rounded and nearly oversized compared to its body. Spray paint forms a vertical mouth with four eyes; two green and two black.  


“Go in,” Mitch sneers, shaking his rifle slightly. (F/N) wanted to turn to glare at him, but (he/she) stops (himself/herself) as (he/she) immediately remembers what Cimmerian said. (F/N) and the other two D-Classes enter the chamber, the door rumbling close. (F/N)’s blood runs cold, straining (his/her) eyelids, fighting the urge to blink.  


D-9341 soon says, “Blinking.” This makes (F/N) crave this urge, so (he/she) also says it and blinks. (F/N)’s eyes felt replenished for a moment. (F/N) watches the statue, and in a weird, creepy way, it seems to watch back. (F/N) can see D-9842 frantically mop and scrub at the excretions, occasionally glancing at the statue as well.  


Every five seconds, the two D-Classes would warn “blinking.”  


On multiple occasions, (F/N) would _almost_ forget to warn before blinking. D-9842 is over halfway done in the enclosure. The statue still watches.  


Finally, (F/N) forgets, and D-9341 warns of him blinking. (F/N) blinks the same time D-9341 does. A sickening snap echoes throughout the chambers.  


D-9341 screams, the statue over by D-9842, his body limp and neck sickenly twisted. (F/N) covers (his/her) mouth, eyes wide.  


(He/She) blinks.  


Scraping stone echoes in the box, and it now stands three feet away from (F/N). (He/She) jumps back, keeping a keen eye on the SCP. D-9341 pounds on the door, pleading, and finally, it opens. As soon as the opening is large enough, D-9341 slips through, yelling frantically before suddenly silencing. (F/N) knew better.  


(He/She) quickly backs toward the opening doors, reaching behind (him/her) to feel toward (his/her) destination. The statue’s lifeless orbs watch. (F/N) feels the air burn and scratch at (his/her) eyeballs, so (he/she) blinks, a blink faster than lightning. SCP-173 moves, but no further than three feet. (F/N) feels a sudden, thin rise in the floor, but (he/she) fights the urge to look. (He/She) knew (he/she) made it to the doorway, so (he/she) kept backing. The door closes. (F/N) waits, not realizing (he/she) was not blinking the entire time the door closed. Once the gap was too small for the statue, (F/N) blinks, relieving (his/her) eyes.  


The statue moves.  


It is now at the door, peering through with an artificial glare as the metal finally rumbles shut. (F/N) couldn’t help but sigh loudly in relief and bends over as if to catch (his/her) breath. (F/N) looks at the guards, two of them pulling D-9341’s limp corpse up. (F/N)’s heart nearly freezes, until (he/she) realizes he is still alive; (F/N) can see some of D-9341’s fingers twitch.  


(F/N) looks at Dave, terror filling (his/her) eyes. Dave casually approaches and his gun remains submissive. “Come on, then, D-3421. Back to your cell to rest, then.”


	3. Rookie Mistake

(F/N) picks at (his/her) cuts on (his/her) arm, huffing. (He/She) stares at the old, vertical cuts alongside (his/her) forearm. (F/N) sits at (his/her) bed, waiting for further instructions.  


_Pfft._  


(F/N) mentally slaps (himself/herself), harrumphing verbally. _I sound like a freaking soldier. I’m not! I’m… not…_  


(F/N) releases a shuddering breath and then cracks (his/her) knuckles. _This is boring… I can’t sleep. I hope lunch comes soon… I’m hungry._ (F/N) frowns at the thought of having an appetite, despite just witnessing an SCP murder a fellow D-Class, despite (his/her) nose recalling the putrid stench of blood and feces, and despite narrowly missing death. (F/N) recalls 173’s face vividly. It _did_ seem to glare at (him/her) before the doors closed… or was it just a normal stare? Somehow, its expressionless face… expressed something. (F/N)’s heart heavies as dread fills (his/her) veins.  


_Does it know something I don’t?_  


No. How can it be smart? It’s made of stone! It’s just a haunted statue… nothing more…  


(F/N) thinks back to (his/her) brief encounter with 205, how the spotlights displayed the silhouette of a young, beautiful woman. The researchers ushered (F/N) away as soon as the spotlights began to frantically display demonic forms to (him/her). But even then, (F/N) remembers the same feeling of narrowly escaping death from a Euclid SCP; terror and relief, like a weight has been lifted but that anchor remains inside. (F/N) had hoped to _never_ encounter a Euclid SCP again, yet unfortunately, a prisoner has no say in a prison. Yes, D-Classes can last no longer than a month, no matter how obedient they are. They just need to hope that they’re proven innocent, otherwise a month later… these sick _fucks_ find a way to kill you. And based on (F/N)’s knowledge so far, this prison has approximately _forty-five_ different ways to kill a D-Class, excluding termination from MTF, guards, or… something about a Pokémon? (F/N) doesn’t remember the correct title.  


Surely, the SCP Foundation _must_ have a peaceful termination option for the obedient D-Classes. _Surely_ , right?  


_No._  


(F/N) jumps, like a startled rabbit, at the soft, feminine voice that echoes in the back of (his/her) mind. (F/N) frantically looks around (his/her) small, empty cell… nothing. No cameras, no holes a neighboring D-Class can speak through… nothing.  


Something had spoken to (F/N).  


_No, I’m just going crazy,_ (F/N) thinks to (himself/herself). _That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? I’m crazy!_  


(F/N) silents, waiting for the voice to come back. It didn’t. (F/N) smirks and mutters, “I knew I went crazy for a sec.”  


(F/N) perks as the cell door slides open and Dave stands there, gun submissive. He nods his helmeted head toward (F/N).  


“Let’s go,” the guard says. “Cimmerian requested _you_ do one more chore before he left. Then it’s lunch afterward.”  


(F/N) slides off the bed and approaches the guard. Dave moves aside for (F/N), walking beside (him/her).  


“Where did Cimmerian go?” (F/N) asks as another guard opens the door.  


Dave hums. “Site-17. That’s where he usually is, but he now has to come here to interview a few SCPs, due to his vast knowledge of Euclid, Keter, Simpatico, Thaumiel, Apollyon, and Truculent SCPs.”  


(F/N) shakes (his/her) head. “I don’t know over _half_ of those classes, sir.”  


“To be fair,” Dave grunts, his tone almost jokingly, “neither do _I_.”  


(F/N) couldn’t help but smile at Dave's friendliness as a facility guard. Perhaps it is because (F/N) is obedient, and (he/she) has earned respect from him. Yet, (F/N) can’t be too sure.  


As they travel further through the halls, Dave finally breaks the silence. “You okay?”  


(F/N) looks at Dave’s black, motorcycle-like helmet, almost in surprise. Guards usually don't give a rat's ass for a _prisoner_. “Sir?”  


“After what happened in 173’s cell,” Dave reminds (F/N).  


“Oh,” (F/N) says sharply. (His/Her) face immediately falls. “Oh… yeah… that. I’m fine now… I feel bad for the guy who _didn’t_ live… what about the other guy who lived?”  


“D-9341 is cleaning SCP-1499’s containment chamber as we speak,” Dave retorts. “Mitch clocked him with his AR-15, so doctors treated his head wound. D-9341 recovered.”  


(F/N) nods. “That’s good…” _Is it really?_  


“On the other hand, you shouldn’t feel bad for D-9842 at all,” Dave adds bluntly while shifting his rifle. “He had it coming. He was only a few days away from termination.”  


(F/N) tilts (his/her) head. “Forgive me if it’s none of my business, but what did --”  


“He crafted a bomb, which killed twenty-seven people at a local mall in Cincinnati, Ohio. That includes four teenagers and three small children.”  


(F/N) bites (his/her) lip and stares at the floor, continuing to walk beside the guard in silence. The rest of the travel was an awkward silence.  


_He deserved it._ I _should've deserved it._  


Dave and (F/N) finally reach a hall that splits into three rooms with a digital panel that labels three SCPs in green for each room. The single room to (F/N)’s right labels “SCP-1025”, while the two to (F/N)’s left (the doors approximately twenty feet away from each other) label “SCP-860” and “SCP-714.”  


Remembering from what (he/she) gathered from other inmates, (F/N) believes 860 is a blue key, 1025 is a book of diseases, and 714 is a jade ring. Dave takes (F/N) to the door labeled “SCP-714" and then turns to (F/N).  


“There’s a duster in there for you. Just dust around 714’s platform. Don’t procrastinate, and don’t wear 714.”  


(F/N) nods, not bothering to ask why. The guard swipes his keycard over the scanner, and the door hisses open. Once inside, (F/N) notices it is a small and cramped room, and the jade ring sparkles in a miniature, opened box on top of a small, black platform. A Swiffer duster leans against the stand. With an exasperated sigh, (F/N) grabs the duster and then proceeds to dust around the room with haste.  


Once finished, (F/N) sets the dirty duster outside the room, and Dave closes the door. He looks at (F/N). “All right, then, follow me to the cafeteria. It’s pizza day.”  


(F/N) grins at Dave’s enthusiasm but mentally vomits. _Their pizza isn’t all that good._  


The walk back is also silent; they walk through the courtroom and (F/N) can hear the tumultuous ruckus of the inmates in the cafeteria. (F/N) grimaces. If they’re _that_ loud, then there are quite a few D-Classes; (F/N) does not look forward to that.  


There usually are an abundance of D-Classes in the cafeteria by lunch, but they’ve never been _this_ loud. The vehement clamors uneases (F/N), and (he/she) observes that the yells agitates Dave. The facility guard swipes his card and the doors open. The ruckus abruptly becomes ear-splitting and cacophonous, therefore, (F/N) flinches and almost shields (his/her) ears instinctively. Other guards patrol around the vast cafeteria with committed gazes and guns. Most D-Classes cramp around a table and wave their fists, and they chant incoherent words at other D-Classes who chug their chocolate milk like alcohol.  


(F/N) rolls (his/her) eyes, and Dave moves away to observe the immature D-Classes. (F/N) ignores the large group and moves to the minibar. Most of the pizza slices are gone, yet with a sigh, (F/N) grabs a paper plate and takes the last cheese pizza slice. (F/N) moves toward a wall and stands and scans the loud room. Most D-Classes continue their rave over chugging milk, while other D-Classes sit at tables and talk with their inmates.  


(F/N) bites down into the pizza, and immediately, a larger inmate strides by and purposely hits the plate from (his/her) hands. (F/N) gasps softly, watching the pizza hit the dirty floor and then glares at the chuckling culprits. The muscular inmate’s uniform marks “D-6352”, and the skinnier, lankier D-Class next to him mischievously grins.  


“Hey, pretty-face,” D-6352 coles, which forces (F/N) awkwardly shrink. The two inmates surround (him/her) and corners (him/her) flat against the wall.  


(F/N), adrenaline fueling fear rather than revenge for (his/her) food, wavers (his/her) eyes toward D-6352. “Go away,” (F/N) says as an instinct, but (his/her) voice cracks and shrinks like (his/her) form.  


D-6352 throws his head back and laughs, a jolly laugh despite (F/N)’s circumstance, and the lanky D-Class joins. The smaller D-Class’s blue eyes flash, and his blond hair reflects the LED lights of the cafeteria. D-6352 has mud-colored hair with eyes just as ugly. (F/N) curls (his/her) lip.  


(F/N) glances at Dave, who stares back. Dave seems to shake his head slowly, but (F/N)’s fist clenches into a taut fist -- so tight that (his/her) knuckles went white.  


_I hate people like this!_  


Of course, a prison would have to have its bullies. They like to prey on what they call the “weak” and break the prisoners who have yet to be broken. (F/N) remembers a previous inmate -- D-7645, (he/she) thinks? -- told (him/her) that if it isn’t the inmates breaking you, it would be the guards. (F/N) recalls D-7645 symmetrical face, bruised and split from her guard’s baton and knuckles, her lip swollen. She trusted (F/N) enough to show (him/her) her bruised thighs.  


D-7645’s guard had raped her.  


(F/N) felt relieved that she was finally at peace; her termination was last week. (F/N) heard she was killed by SCP-049…  


(F/N) glares at the laughing, buff inmate, and then something in (F/N)’s brain snaps. (F/N) sends a swift, knuckle-first punch under the larger inmate’s left pec, right over his stomach. The D-Class grunts and topples over, and the skinny D-Class took the opportunity to start punching at (F/N)’s side.  


(F/N) snarls at the scrawny D-Class and uses (his/her) arm to block (his/her) side. Using (his/her) free hand, (F/N) swings at the D-Class’s head. As soon as (F/N)’s fist contacts the D-Class’s head, the large D-Class bulldozes against (him/her), pinning and crushing (F/N) into the wall. (F/N) cries out, (his/her) lungs spewing air, and (F/N)’s head bounces against the wall. The force only knocks (F/N) out for a split millisecond. (F/N)’s vision black with stars and then when (he/she) comes to, (F/N)’s body vibrates from the head trauma.  


The guards had immediately taken note of the situation. Two guards hook their arms around the larger inmate’s biceps, yanking him away as another guard cracks at his knees with a baton. A guard pulls the slim D-Class forcefully, harsh enough so the prisoner loses his footing.  


(F/N) slides onto the floor, grasping at (his/her) temples to attempt to control (his/her) spinning head and dazed eyes. (F/N) grits (his/her) teeth.  


_Well done,_ the feminine voice whispers in the back of (F/N)’s mind.  


(F/N) shakes (his/her) head. _No… I’m going crazy again… I hit my head!_  


Someone grabs (F/N)’s arm, pulling (him/her) up. (F/N) lowers (his/her) hands, (his/her) vision beginning to stabilize. Dave holds (F/N), and another guard strolls behind them, training his gun at (F/N)’s cranium.  


(F/N) can hear Dave say, “That’s not necessary.”  


(F/N) barely remembers the travel back to (his/her) cell. A doctor had been called, and she checked (F/N)’s eyes, claiming that (he/she) had no concussion. So, (F/N) rests on the bed, breathing heavily and relaxing (his/her) muscles. (F/N) feels extremely tired, yet can’t sleep, and has lost (his/her) appetite, despite wanting to eat.  


(F/N) nods to (himself/herself), thinking about a possible request. _The next time I see Dave… I’ll ask him if I can just have food delivered to my cell… yeah, that’s it._  


(F/N) picks at (his/her) sleeve and then at the fabricated symbol of the Foundation over the collarbone on the left side. The symbol is distinguishable with an unfinished circle and arrows pointing inward. (F/N) scratches at the symbol, knowing it won’t come off, but still attempting to rip it off.  


_It’s a false brand. It’s a brand. Get it off… off…_  


The back of (F/N)’s mind pleads to remove it, but then (he/she) strokes the fabricated code underneath the symbol; “D-3421.”  


_It won’t come off… This is who I am._  


_No._  


(F/N) jumps again, startling at the feminine voice that tickles into the base of (his/her) brain. (F/N) grasps (his/her) head. _This is too real to be a coincidence… I can’t be this crazy._  


_What you did wasn’t crazy._  


(F/N) jolts from (his/her) bed and starts beating (his/her) palm against (his/her) temple. “No… Get out of my head!” (F/N) doesn’t realize (he/she) screams the sentence.  


_You’re not crazy._  


“Sh-shut up!” (F/N) cries, when the door suddenly whooshes open.  


(F/N) pauses, Dave standing in the doorway. (F/N) can only imagine a look of terror behind the helmet. (F/N) still holds (his/her) head in place, but Dave doesn’t say anything. In fact, he only moves to the side, and a researcher takes his place. The tall, blonde researcher with rectangular glasses shielding his bright green eyes tilts his head at (F/N).  


(F/N) drops (his/her) arms from (his/her) head, immediately recognizing the doctor. _Dr. Lance Howe._  


“You all right, D-3421?” he asks, his voice calm and smooth.  


(F/N) nods, yet (he/she) knows Howe is smart enough to see past it. Howe only frowns and shakes his head.  


“I would like you to come with me, D-3421,” Howe instructs. “Please.”  


(F/N) straightens and nods, following the doctor. Dave follows behind, clutching his gun close.  


“These are new tests,” Howe informs while swiping his Level 4 card over scanners.  


“Can I ask what, sir?” (F/N) asks softly, rubbing (his/her) arms.  


“No,” Howe states. “But before the experiment, we will run some check-up tests.”  


(F/N) furrows (his/her) brows, tilting (his/her) head. “Ex… experiment?”  


“Oh, did I say experiment? Sorry. Habit.”  


(F/N) skeptically glares at Howe. He doesn’t make mistakes. He’s the smartest man (F/N) has ever met.  


After a few moments of silence, and listening to the deep, echoing footsteps, (F/N) recognizes they’re heading back to the elevator. Yet, the hospital wing is on _this_ floor, Sublevel 1. (F/N) bites (his/her) lip, now recognizing that Howe’s “correction” had a slight tone of sarcasm. _Something_ must have gotten to him…  


(F/N), Howe and Dave reach the elevator room, and Howe politely ushers the two into the machine. Howe presses the down button, and (F/N)’s heart flutters once again as the elevator slightly bounces to start. The ride is slow, and (F/N) watches through the glass tube as different levels pass. The elevator stops at Sublevel 2. (F/N) readies (his/her) muscles to move, but Howe clicks the down button again. (F/N)’s eyes narrow.  


_I better not be heading back to 173…_  


(F/N) didn’t want to move once the elevator stopped at Sublevel 3, and (he/she) didn’t have to. Dave stays put and Howe clicks the down button _again_.  


(F/N)’s heart would’ve stopped and sweat almost develops at (his/her) hairline. Once the elevator stops, a lump forms in (F/N)’s throat.  


_Sublevel 4._  


The elevator dings, the door opens, and Howe strolls out casually. (F/N) doesn’t move, and has to be nudged by Dave’s gun to snap (him/her) from (his/her) stupor. (F/N) clenches (his/her) hands into fists, pressing them against (his/her) thighs, and follows Howe deliberately. Dave pushes (F/N) a few times to speed (him/her) up. (F/N) whimpers and obeys the facility guard.  


The tunnels and corridors seem to become more ill-lit, the halls made of brown stone. (F/N) shudders when (he/she) hears the ceiling above rumble, some dust falling. (F/N) glances at these new surroundings and even the doors seemed to be heavily built with black steel.  


_Titanium._  


Sublevel 4 is heavily built, intelligently designed, which means only one thing. This is heavy containment, where they keep the highly dangerous and _big_ SCPs. Howe continues to lead through corridors, and (F/N) spots a few busy offices. The researchers seemed hard at work, and above that, the guards here are MTF.  


The trio strides over a catwalk, below multiple MTF strolling the empty room, a giant titanium door looming beside one of the walls. (F/N) watches the door as they walk over, and (his/her) heart flutters when a loud, deep roar resonates from behind the titanium. Dave must’ve seen (F/N) flinch.  


“Don’t worry, D-3421,” he says softly. “It is well contained.”  


“What was it?” (F/N) asks, shuddering at the mere thought that the answer could be _anything_.  


“Classified, as far as your knowledge goes,” Howe remarks, swiping his card over a scanner. The catwalk is over and it is now back to dark, ominous halls.  


(F/N) mutters to (himself/herself) and continues to follow. It almost seems to be a journey until a hall suddenly lightens and glass sheets decorate the right side of the hall. It is a large office, and a few scientists sit within it. Howe turns into the office, so (F/N) and Dave follow.  


The office is barely lit, but still light enough to see. The scientists glance at (F/N), and (F/N) recognizes one of them to be the woman who checked (his/her) head injury. She smiles at (him/her). (F/N) only looks at the titanium door ahead, a digital panel labeling “SCP-049-96” in gold print.  


(F/N) looks around for cleaning supplies. Confused, (F/N) looks at Howe. “I’m not… cleaning?”  


“Oh, no.” Howe shakes his head while approaching the titanium door. Dave pushes (F/N) toward the door, and (he/she) complies. “We are simply testing, yet do not fret, it is not dangerous.”  


(F/N) shakes (his/her) head and looks at the digital panel. “It’s… it’s in gold print, sir… I don’t know any Class in gold… Euclid is _yellow_.”  


Howe gazes at (F/N) and then smiles, readying his card to open the SCP’s cell.  


(F/N) glances at the card and then shakes (his/her) head. “What Class is gold?”  


Howe grins.  


“ _Thaumiel_.”


	4. The Chosen One

The door growls open and Dave nudges (F/N) into the cell. (F/N) looks at Dave with pleading eyes, but (he/she) cannot see if Dave is sympathetic. (F/N) watches Dave back away, (his/her) vision soon blocked by the closed titanium door. (F/N) bites (his/her) lip, slowly turning to expect a large, carnivorous monster… but there was nothing. It is a chamber, reminding (F/N) of (his/her) cell, but bigger and more embellished. There is a bed to (F/N)’s right, along with an ajar door that reveals a bathroom. To (F/N)’s left are cupboards and dressers with easels and canvases leaning against them. A form sitting at a studio desk causes (F/N) to freeze.  


The humanoid is cloaked in pitch black garments and a lamp above the SCP illuminates the area in which it works. (F/N) swallows and backs into the door, grasping the cold metal. (F/N) watches as the SCP’s gloved hand deliberately sets aside a pen.  


“Hello, (F/N),” it says, it’s voice silky, feminine, and somewhat muffled. It doesn’t even look at (F/N).  


(F/N)’s heart flutters and (his/her) breathing becomes slightly rapid. _How does it know my name?_  


(F/N)’s blood runs cold as the entity stands, its height around the same as (F/N)’s at five-foot-eight. It turns to (F/N), and (he/she) immediately freezes. The SCP dons a white mask, its neck blocked by some black cloth, and a black hood covers its head. But its mask… its mask seems to bleed black from the eye sockets as a haunting, red smile expands from the corners of the mask’s non-smiling mouth.  


The SCP tilts its head. “You’re afraid,” it mutters.  


(F/N)’s mind suddenly snaps, recognizing the creature’s voice. _It’s the voice that was talking to me!_  


“Who… who are you?” (F/N) asks, (his/her) voice shaking. “You… it’s you. You’re the voice.”  


The SCP straightens its head. “Yes, I am. The researchers here refer to me as SCP-049-96… but you may call me Alpha.”  


(F/N) shakes (his/her) head slowly. “No… I want out, please. I’ve been good!” (F/N) screams through the door, panicking as Alpha approaches slowly. “Please, let me out!”  


“Now, now, child,” Alpha soothes as she reaches out her right gloved hand. “No need for that.”  


(F/N) frantically shakes (his/her) head, whimpering and pleading for Alpha to go away. “No… no no no, please. Don’t…”  


Alpha stands nearly a foot away now, and she tilts her head. “Don’t what, child? I am merely trying to help you. Let me help you.”  


(F/N) shivers like a Chihuahua as Alpha grabs a hold of (his/her) shoulder. Seconds later, (F/N)’s heart reduces to a normal speed and (his/her) thoughts calm. Adrenaline ceases. (F/N) feels (his/her) muscles relax, but within the moment of relaxation, (F/N) starts to become confused.  


“Wha-what?” (he/she) mumbles. “What are you doing to me?”  


“Making sure you don’t make yourself sick, child,” Alpha soothes and then drops her hand. She inhales loudly and then sighs. “Your fear is so grand, it can make yourself sick. Stress does tear apart the body, after all.” Alpha backs away, giving (F/N) some distance, to (his/her) relief. “Step forward.”  


(F/N) perks up and stares at Alpha, a mixture of disbelief and fear contorted onto (his/her) face. “What? No.”  


“You’re making this extremely difficult, (F/N),” Alpha retorts harshly, locking her gloved fingers together over her chest. “I promise you, if I wanted to harm you, I would’ve touched you with my _left_ hand instead.”  


(F/N) glances at Alpha’s left hand and then back to her ominous mask. Her expressionless gaze uneases (F/N), but (he/she) complies with Alpha’s orders. (F/N) slowly steps toward Alpha, each step slow and nearly hesitant.  


Alpha raises a hand. “Stop there.”  


(F/N) halts, pressing (his/her) lips into a thin line and watching Alpha closely. Alpha slowly circles, her mask moving in a manner that suggests she is studying (F/N)’s form.  


“All the… ‘ _D-Classes_ ’, the staff here calls you… wear this biased uniform?” Alpha quizzes, her right gloved hand brushing on the sleeve of (F/N)’s arm. (F/N) flinches, glancing at the hand to make sure it wasn’t the left.  


(F/N) nods.  


“Κρετίνοι,” Alpha mutters, and (F/N) cocks a brow.  


“What… what language is that?” (F/N) musters the courage to ask.  


“Greek,” Alpha answers, moving behind (F/N). (F/N) immediately grows uncomfortable with the Thaumiel SCP behind (him/her), so (he/she) turns (his/her) head as best as (he/she) can to see Alpha. Alpha’s right hand traces (F/N)’s spine, and the D-Class flinches and shudders. “I am of Greek origins, child. Greek is my mother tongue, though I fare well with French, German and English as well. In fact, I can speak every language, the old and the new.”  


“How… do you know those languages?”  


“It bodes well if you are either the savior or destroyer of worlds.”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes. “D-Destroyer?”  


Alpha shrugs. “Or savior. Your call.”  


(F/N) skeptically shakes (his/her) head, Alpha appearing to (his/her) left. “My… my call?”  


“Why, yes,” Alpha hums and then her right hand strokes at (F/N)’s neck and shoulder. (F/N) winces and pulls away, but her hand squeezes (his/her) shoulder, holding (F/N) in place. (F/N) yelps at her strength and grabs her wrist, her grip beginning to pinch the muscles in (F/N)’s shoulder. While Alpha’s mask may be expressionless aside from the bloody, painted smile, she seemingly glares through the black eyeholes. “ _You_ decide the fate of our beloved and cruel world, which now lies in the palm of your hands... What is your choice, (F/N)? Will you shower the lands and fill the oceans with the quenching waters from the heavens above? Will we coexist with the anomalies allegedly proclaimed to plague our lands? Will cities burn and crumble to my touch because you'll refuse my biddings? Will everything, including the SCPs -- including _you_ \-- reduce to whitened ash, all because your futile attempts will lead to the Pestilence withering in your veins?” Alpha hisses her lecture, her mask getting closer to (F/N)’s terrified face. “What do you have to lose, (F/N)?”  
(F/N)’s lip quivers, shaking (his/her) head. “Wh… are you saying… you… _choose_ me? You choose me to aid you to either destroy or… save the world?”  


Alpha’s right hand pats (F/N)’s cheek. “Now, you’re getting it.” Alpha takes one step back and (F/N) massages (his/her) shoulder in which Alpha had grasped. “I choose you to aid me in my endeavors, and to aid the SCPs in their endeavors.”  


(F/N) slowly shakes (his/her) head, glaring at Alpha. “Are you insane? No! The SCPs are dangerous creatures --”  


“We are _superior_ , (F/N),” Alpha barks, and (F/N) jumps at her snap. “We are the original rulers of this world, the _gods_. You have no idea about the evils this world grasps. And it starts with your kind… humanity is extremely misguided. I will fix that. _We_ will fix that, (F/N). Do you remember why you were brought here?”  


(F/N) shudders and looks down. _I don’t want to remember…_  


Alpha tilts her head. “No matter, child. What _does_ matter is that I choose _you_. You are destined for this world, (F/N).”  


“Why?” (F/N) blurts, (his/her) voice no longer stricken with fear. “Why me?”  


“That is for you to discover,” Alpha remarks, fiddling with her gloved hands. “I’ve seen your past, (F/N), and it’s perfect to fuel you in these endeavors. I chose you because I sense you will do the right thing. But it is your journey to discover your purpose and worth to this world, but I will be kind enough to tell you that your purpose isn’t for nothing.”  


(F/N) scans Alpha’s dark figure and then back to her mask. “How will I do this? We’re trapped here! I’m due for termination in two weeks… and we can’t escape!”  


Alpha chuckles ominously, the laugh dark enough for (F/N)’s heart to freeze. Alpha removes the glove to her left hand, revealing a pale, slender hand with slim fingers. Other than the complexion, the hand seemed healthy and belonged to a human. (F/N) takes a step back as Alpha’s threatening stare locks onto (F/N).  


She lunges.  


(F/N) doesn’t have time to scream as Alpha’s right hand grabs (his/her) neck, throwing (him/her) to the ground. Alpha pins (F/N) on the ground, (F/N) trying to beat (his/her) fists on Alpha’s arm, but the SCP is unfazed by (F/N)’s futile attempts. Alpha’s left hand holds her glove over (F/N)’s face.  


Her right hand grasps (F/N)’s jaw. “Open your mouth, child. You’ll need something to bite down on.”  


(F/N) whimpers and tries to snap (his/her) head from Alpha’s grasp, but her grip is iron. “N-No!”  


Alpha growls softly and tightens her grasp. “Don’t make me force you.”  


“You’re gonna kill me!” (F/N) blurts, and Alpha seizes her chance. She hooks her thumb and index finger into (F/N)’s cheeks, forcing (his/her) bottom jaw to stay down. (F/N) groans and tries to close (his/her) mouth, but (F/N) realizes that, unfortunately, any attempt of (his/hers) is futile. (F/N) groans and almost gags as Alpha stuffs her dirty glove into (his/her) mouth. She releases (F/N)’s jaw but keeps her grip on (his/her) throat. (F/N) struggles a bit and then Alpha holds (his/her) head in place. The index finger of her left hand suddenly illuminates with a golden, fiery light, and she slowly brings it to (F/N)’s forehead.  


“This will hurt, so bite down,” Alpha warns, her voice unusually soft.  


(F/N) knew, in the back of (his/her) mind, it is useless to fight against this entity. So, (F/N) clenches (his/her) teeth into the leather-lined, polyester glove, feeling the heat from Alpha’s finger over (his/her) forehead.  


(F/N) squeezes (his/her) eyes shut, letting out a muffled, pained scream as the fiery touch finally makes contact with (his/her) skin. (F/N)’s eyes water, (F/N)’s skin sizzles, and (F/N)’s teeth grits. (F/N) clutches Alpha’s arm tighter and tighter until (his/her) nails dig into the sleeve of Alpha’s hoodie. Through the pain, (F/N) can feel Alpha trace something into (his/her) forehead.  


“Done,” Alpha retorts, pulling her glove from (F/N)’s mouth and standing. (F/N) opens (his/her) eyes, tears blurring (his/her) vision. Alpha wipes the damp glove over her hoodie and then dons it back on. (F/N) remains on the cold ground, warm tears cascading over (his/her) cheeks as the burning sensation finally fades. Alpha remains standing beside (him/her), watching. Alpha steps back as (F/N) sits up, (his/her) fingertips brushing the branded symbol in the middle of (his/her) forehead.  


“What did you --?”  


Right as (F/N) begins (his/her) question, the intercom in the cell buzzes. “ _SCP-049-96, please steer clear of the door as it opens,_ ” Howe’s voice announces.  


Alpha stares at the door as it opens and two guards enter, including Dave. Dave approaches (F/N) while the other guard trains his weapon at Alpha, but the SCP doesn’t move. She only watches (F/N) as Dave lifts (him/her) to (his/her) feet, ushering (him/her) out the cell. Alpha notices (F/N) tries to walk with haste.  


Alpha only softly chuckles as the other guard leaves, and the door rumbles shut.  


Dave grasps (F/N) meticulously as he leads (him/her) back into the elevator. (F/N) leans against the wall of the elevator, rubbing at the brand. Dave slaps away (F/N)’s hand, which startles (him/her).  


“Leave it alone, you’ll just make it worse,” he states, an abnormal caring tone in his voice.  


“Where are we going, sir?” (F/N) quietly asks.  


The elevator stops at Sublevel 3 and Dave clicks up again. “Hospital wing to treat the burn.”  


(F/N) nods and sighs with relief. “Okay… thanks.”  


Dave transports (F/N) carefully to the hospital and a doctor takes over. The doctor transports (F/N) to a hospital bed, and drenches a cloth with a liquid gel antibiotic. (F/N) sits and watches the doctor as he rubs the medication over the burn. (F/N) hisses sharply as it stings, but it quickly fades. Dave stands on the opposite side of the room, watching (F/N)’s movements.  


Suddenly, (F/N) feels a knot tighten in (his/her) gut, and (his/her) throat begins to feel… full. “I… I don’t feel so good…”  


The doctor looks at (F/N) worryingly and then immediately jumps back, narrowly missing (F/N)’s hurl. (F/N) clutches (his/her) gut, turning pale.  


“I’m… sorry, doctor.”  


The doctor sighs. “It’s all right, D-3421. I’ll have a janitor come clean it up. Get some rest.” The doctor takes his leave and (F/N)’s pale face looks at Dave. The guard seems to divert his line of sight away from (F/N).  


(F/N) sighs, gritting (his/her) chalky teeth as the taste of vomit lingers. (F/N) lays on the bed anyway, sighing softly.  


(F/N) doesn’t know how long (he/she) has slept but when (he/she) awakes, (he/she) does not feel replenished. (He/She) feels greasy and violated. Dave is now gone, but one of (F/N)’s hands is handcuffed to the hospital bed. (F/N) growls softly. _Great._  


(F/N) tugs at the handcuff, not as an attempt to free (himself/herself), but out of mere boredom. With (his/her) free hand, (F/N) rubs the raised burn on (his/her) forehead. It doesn’t hurt, but (F/N) can feel it is a symbol of some kind.  


_But what?_  


(F/N) jerks (his/her) hand from the burn as a doctor enters the room. This doctor is new; he is tall and slim, with prominent cheekbones and blazing blue eyes. His black hair is neatly combed back, and he didn’t wear a white coat but a black suit. But (F/N) still notices he is a doctor, due to the clipboard he holds just like the other researchers.  


(F/N) sits up immediately as the doctor approaches. (F/N) looks down, noticing the vomit has been cleaned. (He/She) looks back at the approaching doctor. The doctor stops right beside the bed, peering at (F/N) eerily and clears his throat. (F/N) feels uneasy and uncomfortable in his stare, but the feeling fades as (he/she) realizes the doctor is studying the symbol.  


(F/N) bites (his/her) lip, giving (himself/herself) mental strength to ask, “What’s the symbol, sir?”  


The doctor looks at (F/N) with an expression like he was extremely surprised that the D-Class spoke. Finally, the doctor speaks, “What, you haven’t seen it in a mirror?” He almost sounds condescending, but (F/N) shakes (his/her) head anyway. The man sighs. “It’s the Greek symbol for _beta_.”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes. “Beta? Why?”  


The doctor tilts his head. “SCP-049-96 refers to itself as _Alpha_. And ‘Alpha’ is the first Greek letter in their alphabet. The second is -- get this -- ‘Beta.’”  


His tone was so mocking that (F/N) frowns. “Okay…”  


The doctor clears his throat. “I am Dr. Bosch, the Site Director here, D-3421. I am also the Head Scientist of SCP-049-96’s investigation, with Dr. Howe as my disciple.”  


(F/N) purses (his/her) lips. “Okay, sir. What… what is it you need?” (F/N) hesitantly adds.  


Bosch harrumphs. “You are now ‘chosen’ by SCP-049-96, which means you’ll be in terms with it. Therefore, your termination date has been cancelled.”  


(F/N) perks, subconsciously grinning ear-to-ear. (F/N)’s heart flutters with joy and feels as if to cheer, but (he/she) controls (his/her) reaction in front of the Site Director.  


Bosch holds out a hand. “However… you have a new code.”  


(F/N) frowns, (his/her) mood immediately changing from joy to concern. “Okay… what is it, sir?”  


Bosch looks at his clipboard and clears his throat. “Your new code is SCP-A2.”


	5. SCP-A2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *I know that this isn't really a chapter with YOU as the main character, but I will say, there will be a few chapters like that for the plot. And it's a relatively short chapter anyway.

Bosch tugs on the collar of his suit as he enters an empty, dark room only lit by five white screens of flat-screen monitors. Each screen statics with a silhouette of a person in each monitor. Some move eagerly, awaiting Bosch’s voice.  


Bosch knows they can see him.  


“Greetings, Bosch,” came a woman’s voice from the first monitor, 05-1.  


“Greetings,” Bosch nods and crosses his arms. “I would like to address the new SCP that was transported here months ago from Site-48.”  


“Of course,” a man’s voice states from the third monitor, 05-3. “Please address its behaviors, Dr. Bosch.”  


“Definitely intelligent,” Bosch informs deliberately. “Deceptively calm. Unnervingly unpredictable. When provoked, downright aggressive.”  


“I assume you’ve found a way that calms it?” a man’s voice asks from the fifth monitor, 05-5.  


Bosch nods. “Like how lavender calms SCP-049, we’ve found the incapacitated state of SCP-1762 can calm it. Currently, a white one perches on its studio desk.”  


“What of its interactions with humans and SCPs?” a woman’s voice from the fourth monitor asks, 05-4.  


“It was observed to become highly aggressive toward D-Class subjects,” Bosch explains. “However, it has been extremely cooperative with the Foundation’s staff. As for SCPs, it develops a companionate bond with them, a bond that I have definitely been notified of. SCP-049-96 is not permitted to visit SCPs, with the exception of SCP-049 and SCP-096. Even then, each visit is limited in time and supervised.”  


“I hope it isn’t hazardous in the method you provide to observe it and SCP-096,” 05-1 retorts. The woman’s silhouette shifts.  


“Of course,” Bosch nods. “We have an intercom system installed, no cameras. Anyway, a recent interview with SCP-049-96 revealed it has a plan originating, but we do not know what, and it claims it is _not_ a plan of escape. However, it said its prophecy claims of a loyal disciple of its choosing. We tested a few subjects, but it killed every one of them until D-3421.”  


“D-3421 is it’s alleged… _chosen_ one?” 05-3 quizzes.  


“Yes,” Bosch nods. “SCP-049-96 branded (him/her), and therefore, we re-coded D-3421 to SCP-A2.”  


“Give me a description of SCP-A2, Dr. Bosch,” 05-1 demands.  


“A(n) (ethnicity) (man/woman) with (h/l),(h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes. Height is five-foot-eight. Brought into the Foundation approximately two weeks ago for homicide, arson, and grand larceny. Termination date is now cancelled.”  


“What is so… _interesting_ about a D-Class that propelled SCP-049-96 to choose (him/her)?” 05-5 asks sternly, the silhouette tilting his head.  


“We do not truly know, but SCP-049-96 takes an interest in D-3421’s past, claiming it is ‘fuel’.”  


“Fuel for what, Dr. Bosch?” 05-2 asks.  


“To destroy or save the world.”  


“I am interested in SCP-049-96’s endeavors,” 05-1 claims. “Therefore, Dr. Bosch, I give permission for SCP-A2 to accompany SCP-049-96 in its plans. This may bring us closer behind its mystery.”  


“05-1, do we really want to risk SCP-049-96 proceeding with its plans?” 05-5 asks, caution in his tone.  


“I agree with 05-5,” 05-3 states. “It is very clear that part of SCP-049-96’s plan involves breaching its containment, and possibly, breaching _all_ of them.”  


“I understand your skepticism,” 05-1 remarks, her tone serious. “However, I require Dr. Bosch to have his men watch SCP-049-96’s actions closely. Whenever it is with an SCP, or with SCP-A2, you _will_ observe them. No exceptions. And always report SCP-049-96’s requests to us, Dr. Bosch. Does this seem reasonable, 05 Council?”  


Bosch glances at each screen, the other four 05 Council members slightly shifting. Finally, 05-4 breaks the awkward silence.  


“I agree,” she states. “I find these terms reasonable. 05 Council?”  


Bosch glances between 2,3 and 5. The doctor knows he only needs at least one more to agree for the terms to be verified. Bosch rubs his chin, waiting for the approval.  


“I’m skeptical, but I agree,” 05-3 finally utters. “05 Council?”  


“I agree,” 05-2 states, and then 05-5 also agrees.  


“It is settled,” 05-1 states. “Dr. Bosch, you will have Dr. Howe take the lead in the investigation and you will report to us directly. On no circumstances will SCP-049-96 escape with SCP-A2. If they escape every SCP and personnel -- including _you_ , Bosch -- will be terminated on sight. We cannot risk SCP-049-96 forming an army, as the prophecy proclaims.”  


Bosch bites his lip and nods. “Yes, I understand, 05-1.”  


“What of SCP-A1?” 05-1 asks.  


Bosch tilts his head. “Successfully contained in Sublevel 5.”  


“Good,” 05-4 remarks.  


“You will terminate SCP-049-96 if it discovers SCP-A1’s presence,” 05-1 orders. “Understand?”  


Bosch nods. “I understand.”  


“Have you found a reliable termination strategy yet for SCP-049-96, Dr. Bosch?” 05-3 asks.  


Bosch sighs and shakes his head. He bites his lip, exhaling through his nose. “No. We have tried to shoot it, burn it, freeze it, even dump it in hydrochloric acid… nothing seems to work. Even the SCPs falter to kill it. SCP-409 didn’t even affect it. SCP-049-96 claims it cannot die until its purpose is fulfilled… a purpose I haven’t identified yet.”  


“Keep trying,” 05-1 demands. “And if we permit it, you are able to bring in _other_ SCPs from different sites. Do _not_ allow Dr. Bright to come into contact with SCP-049-96.”  


Dr. Bosch nods. “Already ahead of you.”  


“And do find a way to terminate SCP-A1,” 05-1 adds. “SCP-A1 must never reach the surface. And once SCP-049-96 is terminated, I order you to terminate SCP-A2 as well. Understood, Dr. Bosch?”  


“... Understood.”


	6. A Day With the Devil

The door to (F/N)’s cell slides open, and Dave stands behind. He clutches his gun tightly and sighs as (F/N) sits up. “Come with me, SCP-A2,” he orders, emphasizing (F/N)’s new code harshly.  


It is almost as if he didn’t like the thought of (F/N) being an SCP. (F/N) doesn’t blame him; (he/she) doesn’t like the thought of being an SCP either, let alone a test subject. Neither does (F/N) like the thought of being an SCP’s… _disciple_. Just thinking of it, (F/N) traces (his/her) fingers over the burn.  


(F/N) slips off (his/her) bed and walks toward Dave. The facility guard backs away, clutching his gun tighter. (F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes at him.  


“Sir, you all right? I… I-I mean no harm!” (F/N) almost holds out (his/her) arms but stops (himself/herself). (F/N) bites (his/her) lip and rubs (his/her) arm. “I didn’t want to be an SCP… if that’s why you’re cautious.”  


“It’s part of my duty to be cautious,” Dave replies, gesturing to the door with his gun. (F/N) immediately starts moving, the guard by the door already opening it.  


“Um, sir?” (F/N) asks, tensing in realization as (he/she) and Dave stride toward the elevator room. “Am I… going back?”  


“Yes,” Dave grunts. “But it’s not up to me, SCP-A2.” (F/N) flinches, not yet used to (his/her) new code.  


“Al-- I mean… SCP-049-96 is dangerous, isn’t she-- it?” (F/N) stumbles at (his/her) words. “Wouldn’t have the Foundation come up with ways to terminate her-- it?” Hope undertones (F/N)’s question. (He/She) didn’t want anything to do with that monster… yet why does (he/she) feel regret from sounding hopeful?  


Sure, that SCP didn’t kill (him/her), but it’s still a threat to this world -- to _(F/N)_. She claims she’ll either save or destroy the world, but isn’t it possible that Alpha’s perception of “saving the world” is the same as destroying? (F/N) doesn’t want to risk that, despite how cruel the world has been to (him/her).  


_But why do I sympathize with this creature?_  


“Yes, we have,” Dave answers as they enter the elevator room. “None of them have worked, and its natural ability is bonding with any SCP, whether it’s alive or inanimate, so any termination strategy with an SCP won’t work, that we know of. But the termination procedures are none of your business, (boy/girl).”  


(F/N) frowns at the “childish” taunt. This is unlike Dave, but (F/N) assumes it is now because (he/she) is an SCP. A monster.  


That’s it. (F/N) is now a monster. (F/N) will now be treated like one.  


_This is my life now._  


Normally, (F/N) wouldn’t be so accepting, but this is a different situation. (F/N) notes (he/she) is completely powerless and vulnerable in this prison.  


_Am I safe with Alpha?_ (F/N) violently shakes (his/her) head as (he/she) and Dave enter the elevator. _No. Why am I even thinking about that? I’m totally afraid of it! It attacked me, it branded me… yet, in some way… it_ cared _for me…_  


“What’re you shaking your head about?” Dave asks.  


(F/N) startles and looks at Dave. “Oh, sorry, sir. Just thinking to myself, that’s all.”  


(F/N) can hear Dave frown, but he doesn’t progress on the topic. (F/N) only leads in silence, with Dave close behind. (F/N) had remembered the way to Alpha’s chambers.  


(F/N) enters the office connecting to Alpha’s cell, and Howe looks at (him/her). “Ah, greetings, SCP-A2.” (F/N) frowns again at (his/her) code. “Dr. Bowl and I will be watching from behind the glass.” He points to the one-way view glass pane connecting Alpha’s cell. (F/N) can see the dark SCP at her studio desk, working. “And we will be listening. No nasty business. Understand?”  


(F/N) nods. “Understood, sir. What am I doing?”  


“Just talking, for today,” Dr. Bowl states, the blond woman looking at (F/N) with a notepad in her hand. “We will bring you out when we feel you are done.”  


(F/N) nods and then swallows nervously. “And if it attacks?” (His/Her) voice slightly quivers.  


“Two guards will come in, assuming they rescue you in time,” Howe muses and (F/N) bites the inside of (his/her) cheeks. “But we seriously doubt SCP-049-96 will attack you, now that you are its disciple. Now, you may enter.” Howe presses the remote, and the titanium door rumbles open.  


(F/N) dips (his/her) head, almost hesitant, but steps into the chamber. The door immediately starts to close. Once it slams shut, Alpha sets down her pencil and stands from her desk. She turns to (F/N), who pins (his/her) back against the cold door.  


Alpha would have smirked from behind her mask if she wasn’t so confused about the fear that boiled in (F/N)’s veins. “Why are you afraid?”  


Her voice is unusually calm, and this catches (F/N) off guard. (F/N) tilts (his/her) head at Alpha.  


“Because… _you_.” (F/N) recognizes that is not a solid response, and Alpha cocks her head more like a confused dog. It was almost comical. “Y-You… you’re powerful… you’re _Thaumiel_!”  


Alpha lifts her head. “Oh, child.” She chuckles, amused. “That is merely a class. Let me tell you, just because something is _Safe_ , doesn’t mean it _is_. You’re telling me you’re afraid because I’m Thaumiel? Ha! You enlighten me, (F/N).” She snickers and waves at the D-Class. Her laughter suddenly ceases and her blank stare, once again, invokes fear into (F/N)’s heart.  


_Unnervingly unpredictable._  


Alpha lifts her gloved right hand, repeatedly rubbing her fingers over her palm. “Hmm…” Her low hum tenses (F/N) as (he/she) realizes Alpha is studying (him/her) again. “Must you require some aid?” Alpha suddenly asks, holding out her right hand.  


(F/N) squints at her, as if she totally expected a terrified human would approach the very reason of its terror. Yet, (F/N) didn’t fear her. It was so confusing… the back of (F/N)’s mind confirmed and lectured that Alpha wouldn’t hurt (him/her)... she needed (him/her)! But (F/N)’s instincts to an abnormality suggests otherwise; (he/she) wants to flee, to scream, and to hide away from this monstrous, powerful anomaly.  


(F/N) startles as Alpha’s right hand slowly lowers. _Oh no… did I take too long to answer? Is she mad?_  


(F/N) slightly sinks against the door, raising an arm above (his/her) head while watching the SCP. (F/N) expects her to lunge, to strangle (him/her), to rip out (his/her) viscera, but the attack never comes.  


Then, Alpha just turns away. This surprises (F/N), and (he/she) lowers (his/her) arm in awe. (He/She) gazes at the anomaly’s back as she moves toward her studio desk.  


“Perhaps, I can help gain some trust from you,” she says as she pulls out her wooden chair. Its legs screech against the floor, and then she sits in it backwards, resting her arms atop the crest rail.  


_Trust? Who is she kidding?_  


Alpha snickers. “I get it, child. A lost soul that doesn’t know where next to reap… Well, perhaps to gain my trust, (F/N), is to trust me first.” (F/N)’s arms drop to (his/her) sides, but (his/her) body remains tense. “I trust that you have many questions?”  


Surprisingly, no. (F/N) thinks of a few, but not many, despite wanting to. (F/N) didn’t like the thought of this entity being humanly friendly. In fact, that scares (him/her) more than anything. (He/She) visualizes that at any moment Alpha can snap. (F/N) purses (his/her) lips and then sighs.  


“Um…” _What’s to lose, anyway?_ “How… how long have you been here… ma’am?”  


Alpha laughs, her mask falling to her forearms, and her shoulders shake violently. “Ma’am?” She looks at (F/N), almost beaming. “(F/N), child, you don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’. Call me Alpha. I feel old when someone calls me _ma’am_.” She chuckles again. “I digress. I do not keep track of my time here.” She gestures around, so (F/N) looks. No clock. “But I’ll have to guess… mmm, a few months. Not too long. I was transferred from another site, Site-48, I believe.”  


“How old are you… Alpha?” (F/N) narrowly misses calling Alpha “ma’am” again.  


Alpha chuckles again. “Since the beginning of the Greek Empire. I am hundreds of years old, (F/N). Now, enough with the time questions. Ask me something useful.”  


(F/N) straightens slightly. “Uh… are you immortal?”  


Alpha giggles. “Don’t be silly, (F/N). Sure, I’ll live long. But I cannot be killed until my purpose is fulfilled.”  


“What’s your purpose?”  


Alpha perks up her head and then tilts it. (F/N) bites the inside of (his/her) cheeks at Alpha’s prolonged silence. “I’ve already explained that.”  


“Not well enough,” (F/N) retorts, mustering the courage to cross (his/her) arms. “You claim to destroy or save this world… how do I know that ‘saving’ this world isn’t destroying it?”  


Alpha deliberately nods her head, contemplating. She points at (F/N). “I see you’re becoming unafraid. Well done.” (F/N) quickly drops (his/her) arms but remains bold in stance. “My quick answer is… you don’t. Perhaps, destroying the world is your way of saving it. Perhaps it’ll be mine. Saving the world will be in _your_ definition, (F/N). And I trust you’ll choose wisely, in time.”  


(F/N) looks at the ground, sliding (his/her) sole of (his/her) boot against the ground, causing it to squeak a few times. The answer makes sense to (F/N), but (he/she) doesn’t know how to perceive it. How does (he/she) know to trust Alpha still?  


_It sounds to me like she’s saying I’m the reason the world will live or die._  


“So… am I the reason the world will be destroyed or saved?”  


“In a way,” Alpha hums. “Of course, I will be the one who either burns this world to ash or will unite man, beast, and god. You will guide me in either of those directions, you see, and your past is the _perfect_ fuel.”  


(F/N) glares at Alpha. “What about my past is so damn important?”  


“Now, now,” Alpha retorts, waving a gloved hand. “I know that’s a bit touchy for you. You don’t need to explain it to me.” Alpha leans over the chair and (F/N) shifts, (his/her) legs numbing from standing. “But it’s the perfect example as to whether you’ll want to save humanity from further harm or… to destroy humanity from taking something precious from you.”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes as (his/her) body begins to shake from sudden adrenaline. _I… don’t want to remember!_  


Alpha leans back. “Oh, but you must remember. And you will.”  


(F/N) squeezes (his/her) eyes shut, violently shaking (his/her) head. “No. Get out of my head. Quit reading my mind!”  


“I can only read your mind because you’re _part_ of me now, (F/N),” Alpha explains, her tone matter-of-factly.  


(F/N) opens (his/her) eyes, softening (his/her) stance. “What?”  


Alpha nods. “Yes, you’re part of me. Ever since I made you Beta…” She points at the beta symbol on (F/N)’s forehead… “you became part of me. And beforehand, I could read your thoughts because they were so rampant, and that’s when I chose you. Some might even say you’re a special case, (F/N).”  


“D… Does that mean I can share your powers? Your thoughts?”  


Alpha nods. “In time, you’ll grow strong enough to learn my powers to use them for your benefit. But maybe it isn’t too soon for you to start learning telepathy. Once you master communicating with me, perhaps you’ll learn how to communicate with the other SCPs. After all, as the gods’ weapon… it is my strong suit to communicate with the other SCPs.”  


“How?”  


“Telepathy, empathy… keeping their best intentions in mind.” Alpha arches her back, straightening. “It will be my _duty_ to save them all.”  


(F/N) sighs and then rubs (his/her) neck. “I was told that it was attempted to terminate you… how did you survive each time?”  


Alpha pats at the chair’s ears and then stands. (F/N) immediately steps back as Alpha steps closer. Alpha suddenly stops and stares at (F/N) for a long while, her gloved fingers flexing. (F/N) shudders under the intense stare, and (he/she) swears (he/she) sees a flash of golden light from behind the black eye-holes of her mask.  


“Yes,” Alpha states lowly, like a growl. “I was. But I cannot be killed until my purpose is fulfilled. That is the way Zeus intended.” Alpha sighs. She glances at the one-way view glass pane and then stares at the ground. “But… I wasn’t immune. The only substance I was immune to was fire. The fire didn’t even burn my clothes.” Alpha grasps at her hoodie’s sleeve. She sighs again. “But I was shot. I was frozen. I was dumped in acid. I’ve been poisoned.” She looks at (F/N), and (he/she) swallows at Alpha’s intense stare. “Every time I was shot, a wound formed. It hurt like hell… they got to hear me scream!” Alpha snarls and (F/N) yelps, but Alpha doesn’t lunge. “Every few seconds, the bullets would fall out, and then a few minutes later, my wounds would be healed. The same goes for the bullet shot to my head… I was only incapacitated for a few minutes.” Alpha rubs the top of her mask. “I survived being frozen. It took me a bit to thaw, however, the fire inside me kept me warm. I was too determined to live to be in pain.” Alpha growls, now pacing beside the chair. “The acid burned like hell, and once again, I screamed!” Alpha bursts out laughing, causing (F/N) to jump.  


_She’s psychotic!_  


“But it didn’t melt me,” Alpha growls, hunching slightly like a bipedal predator. Her black eye-holes prey at (F/N). “I lived. I drank poison, but all it did was make me feel sick and feverish. I lived, (F/N). I am _not_ immune, if that is what you were thinking…”  


(F/N) steps back until (his/her) back hits the wall. Alpha doesn’t follow like (F/N) expected, but her predatory gaze petrifies the muscles in (his/her) body.  


_This is why she’s Thaumiel. She’s too dangerous… too unpredictable!_  


Therefore, Alpha did the unexpected. She suddenly straightened and softened, her mood immediately changing. (F/N) became overly confused, mixed with adrenaline-pouring terror. Alpha turns away from (F/N) and peers into the glass pane.  


“Sir Howe,” she calls, her voice soft and calm.  


The intercom buzzes. “ _Yes, SCP-049-96?_ ”  


“I request that I keep (F/N) with me at all times.”  


(F/N)’s heart flutters. _Please say no! Please say no!_ How would (F/N) want to willingly stay with this monster? Sure, it didn’t severely hurt (him/her) and _probably_ had (his/her) best intentions in mind, but… Alpha is too unpredictable and downright terrifying! Why would (F/N) want to be around her 24/7?  


“ _I’m sorry, SCP-049-96. That kind of request is not my call._ ”  


(F/N) jumps as Alpha raises her left hand and slams it against the glass. The entire pane shutters and cracks where her fist made contact. (F/N) couldn’t see it, but (he/she) bets everyone on the other side is petrified.  


“I swear to the gods, I will bring this entire facility down if I am not accompanied by my Chosen One,” Alpha warns, malice dripping in every syllable.  


“ _Threats won’t help your case, SCP-049-96,_ ” Howe informs, but his voice visibly shakes. “ _It’s not my call… and it’s not yours. However, I can speak to Dr. Bosch about it ASAP._ ”  


Alpha pulls away with a shrug. “That’s reasonable. It better be ASAP, then, doctor.”  


“ _It will be, do not fret._ ” The intercom buzzes off.  


Alpha turns to (F/N) and (he/she) shivers. Alpha tilts her head. (F/N) watches her carefully as the SCP only turns away and heads back to her studio desk. She picks up what seems to be a large sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. She holds both items and sits in the chair again, resting the sketchbook on the crest rail and facing (F/N). (F/N) only becomes even more confused.  


_What is she doing? Is she… drawing me?_  


(F/N) softens and tilts (his/her) head as (he/she) watches Alpha’s arm frantically move with the charcoal pencil pinched between gloved fingers. (F/N) stands for what seems like ages and (his/her) legs finally weaken. (F/N) allows (himself/herself) to slide to the ground, sitting with knees to (his/her) chest and arms wrapped around. Alpha pauses while (F/N) moves, watching. (F/N) suddenly feels awkward at the SCP’s silent, almost judgemental, gaze. Then, she resumes drawing.  


(F/N) looks over and starts to pick at (his/her) jumpsuit’s sleeve out of mere boredom. (F/N) knew letting (his/her) guard down now would suffice for a bit, as Alpha seems preoccupied for a moment.  


If (F/N) is to really spend 24/7 with this anomaly, then perhaps (he/she) should try and predict its unpredictable actions? (He/She) is an SCP now, after all. To understand an SCP, (he/she) must _be_ an SCP.  


What defines being an SCP? Just being anomalous?  


_I can do that… Alpha says I share her powers. I can communicate with other SCPs!_  


(F/N) snaps from (his/her) thoughts when Alpha shifts. She stuffs the pencil into her hoodie’s pouch and then turns the sketchbook. (F/N)’s jaw immediately drops.  


(He/She) wasn’t expecting that. It was an immensely, intricately detailed portrait of (himself/herself) looking to the side. Alpha’s shading intrigued (F/N) enough for (him/her) to stand and to start approaching, momentarily forgetting about the powerful entity that wields the sketchbook. As (F/N) got closer, the more details (he/she) can see. The hairline was beautiful (it was the best damn hair [F/N] has ever seen!), the eyes themselves almost seemed to sparkle. It was as if someone took a grayscale photo of (F/N) and slapped it onto the rough paper of Alpha’s sketchbook.  


(F/N) reaches to the sketchbook and Alpha allows (him/her) to hold it.  


“You like it?” Alpha asks, bringing her arms to her chest.  


(F/N) slowly nods, still stunned by (his/her) portrait’s beauty. “Y-Yeah… This is the best drawing I’ve seen… How are you so damn good?”  


Alpha lowers her head and chuckles. (F/N) figures she is blushing. “My Greek origins. Greece was known for its beauty in art, poetry, and theatre. Old times. And as the centuries passed, I got better. The gods crafted beauties of nature. Do you know who SCP-035 is, dear?”  


(F/N) looks up from the sketchbook. “Isn’t it the Possessive Mask?”  


Alpha frowns. “That’s what they call him? Well… to an extent, yes. But he was forged by the Greek gods as a gift for the Muse Melpomene. He was a work of art, you see. He and I take common interests… that’s why he and I get along so very well…” Alpha chuckles darkly, but (F/N) ignores it. (He/She) hands Alpha the sketchbook, and Alpha takes it while she stands. “Hmm…” Alpha looks at (F/N) up and down.  


(F/N) shifts uncomfortably at her gaze. “What are you doing, Alpha?”  


“Hmm? Oh, yes, just looking,” Alpha hums as she sets the sketchbook on her desk. “Just thinking of something I’d like to call you.”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes. “Call me? What do you mean?”  


Alpha chuckles. “How does (N/N) work?”  


(F/N) immediately blushes. “Um… okay, sure.” (F/N) doesn’t think it’s a good idea to argue with the SCP. “Uh… you said before you wanted me to aid you on your endeavors… do you have a plan, Alpha?”  


Alpha nods and faces (F/N).  


“How do we start?”  


“As soon as the Site Director verifies you can be with me 24/7, we start by introducing you to _two_ of my closest friends.”  


(F/N) swallows. “Friends? You mean… _other_ SCPs?”  


Alpha nods. “Is that a problem? You must gain their trust, in order for this to work, (N/N).”  


(F/N)’s cheeks flush at the nickname. “Uh…”  


The intercom buzzes. “ _That’s enough for today,_ ” Dr. Bowl’s voice states. “ _SCP-049-96, steer clear of the door. SCP-A2, come to the door and walk through._ ”  


With that, the door buzzes open.


	7. The Plague Doctor and the Shy Guy

(F/N) startles as (his/her) cell opens, jolting from (his/her) bed. Dr. Howe stands in the doorway, gesturing with two fingers to come to him. (F/N) complies almost immediately, approaching the doctor.  


Howe lifts his head. “Dr. Bosch has received the 05 Council’s approval that you are now permitted to stay with SCP-049-96.”  


(F/N) widens (his/her) eyes. “What? Does that mean I sleep in h-- its cell, too?”  


Howe nods.  


“No! I like _my_ cell!” (F/N) points into (his/her) small, nearly empty cell with (his/her) uncomfortable bed and tiny bathroom with a tiny sink. “I want to sleep _here_!”  


“That is not your choice,” Howe states as he leads (F/N) down many hallways. The more (F/N) travels to Alpha’s cell, the faster the travel seems. Within (F/N)’s mind, (he/she) was there in nearly a jiffy. (F/N) and Howe enter the office, a few guards (including Dave) standing beside a few researchers. Dr. Bowl looks at (F/N), swinging her soft, blond hair.  


“Dr. Bosch has told us you now have permission to guide SCP-049-96 with her supervised visits, SCP-A2,” she informs, almost excitedly. (F/N) only frowns.  


As the cell door opens, Bowl buzzes on the intercom and delivers the same news to Alpha. Alpha thanks Bowl, clasping her hands together and nodding her head. Alpha then looks at (F/N) as the door closes.  


(F/N) swallows the lump in (his/her) throat.  


“Hello, (N/N),” Alpha says with a deceptively sweet tone. (F/N) didn’t like it very much.  


“Hi,” (F/N) greets back quietly.  


Alpha tilts her head and then quickly approaches (F/N) at an alarming speed. (F/N)’s instincts kick in, springing (him/her) back against the wall as Alpha closes in.  


_What is she doing?_  


Alpha places her hands beside (F/N) against the wall, almost seeming like she would’ve slammed them instead. (F/N) squirms and shrinks below her form and ominous gaze. (F/N) subconsciously whimpers and squeezes (his/her) eyes shut, bringing (his/her) arms across (his/her) chest as if to shield from any attack from the entity.  


But the attack never came.  


(F/N) knows that Alpha is still there. (He/She) can feel her dangerous aura treacherously close. (F/N) peeks at Alpha, (his/her) vision clearing enough to see the haunting white mask with a bloody smile and black tears. Alpha suddenly snickers and backs away from (F/N). (F/N) relaxes (himself/herself), lowering (his/her) arms and straightening.  


“Are you still afraid of me?” Alpha chuckles.  


(F/N) doesn’t hesitate to nod. Alpha sighs and approaches again, this time, a bit calmer. (F/N) remains weary, but the way Alpha approaches this time doesn’t cause (F/N) to collapse in fear. Alpha extends her right hand and grasps (F/N)’s arm. Immediately, (F/N) feels relaxed, closing (his/her) eyes as a relieving sigh escapes (his/her) lips. Alpha lets go, and (F/N)’s new, calm feelings remain.  


Alpha seems to shudder. “My… it’s always intrigued me how much people fear things they don’t understand.” Alpha stares at (F/N), but (F/N) doesn’t make any movements. (He/She) opens (his/her) eyes and peers at the entity. “I digress, I feel it is time to go.”  


(F/N) tilts (his/her) head. “Go? Go where?”  


Alpha’s head tilt is nearly unnoticeable to the naked eye. “My supervised visit, of course! And since it is approved, you will be joining me.”  


(F/N) huffs. _Oh, right._  


The intercom suddenly buzzes, and Howe’s voice comes through. “ _Stay clear of the door, SCP-049-96 while MTF comes and restrains you._ ”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes. “Restrain?”  


Alpha nods. “Why, yes. Any supposedly dangerous SCP must be restrained during transportation.” The door slides open and five armored men with AR-15s cladded in blue fabrics come barging in. One MTF soldier trains their gun on (F/N), so (F/N) raises (his/her) hands in surrender.  


(F/N) watches as the other four restrain Alpha. Alpha hooks her hand behind her back, and an MTF handcuffs her. Two MTFs shackle her neck with two extension rods that reach nearly seven feet. Two MTFs hold each rod, while two other MTF soldier’s hook a large shackle around Alpha’s waist, hooking the slightly shorter extension rod through the gap in her arms.  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes as Alpha doesn’t even flinch in the process. Alpha only taps her foot, humming and waiting.  


One MTF soldier takes the lead out the door, while the two holding the neck extensions walk beside Alpha, watching their step and watching Alpha as if she is a venomous reptile. One MTF soldier holds the waist extension from behind, all walking at a decent pace to not cause havoc.  


“Let’s go!” the last MTF soldier barks at (F/N). (F/N) jumps and quickly walks after the restrained SCP.  


(F/N) can feel the AR-15’s nuzzle digging into (his/her) back, which only spikes (his/her) heart rate more. (He/She) could trip and the MTF could take it as a sign to shoot!  


There had to be two trips on the elevator. It was too small for everyone, so the four MTF soldiers and Alpha had to be crammed in. (F/N) waits awkwardly beside the MTF soldier, eager for the elevator to come back. Once it did, (F/N) practically rushes inside.  


Once they reach Sublevel 3, (F/N) is forced out by the MTF soldier. The others waited and then resumed their journey. (F/N) glances around sporadically, sinking every new information deep into (his/her) mind. They are taking (him/her) the opposite way of 173, to (F/N)’s relief.  


But then the halls started changing. They were once bright and large and eventually transformed into a smaller, tighter, darker space. Their footsteps echo and thud over the metal crated floor, which only fuels (F/N)’s fear more. The MTF directs Alpha into an office, similar to the office outside of her cell, but darker. It was a second later when the MTF soldier shoves (F/N) after. (F/N) grunts and glares at the soldier.  


The MTF points his gun at (him/her), which causes (him/her) to back toward the large cell door that connects to the office. The MTF has Alpha stand directly in front of the door. Howe and Bowl walk in with clipboards in hand. Dave and a few facility guards follow the doctors. Howe approaches the one-way view glass pane and (F/N) tries to peer through it.  


(F/N)’s heart flutters.  


A taller, dark form stands to what seems to be an operating table. (F/N) can see counters with old books and medical supplies, as well as a desk with papers and journals. This dark form seems to wear a pitch-black medieval cloak and (F/N) can see its arms move in a slicing manner. A surgical light shines above the table, with turquoise sheets covering whatever the thing is operating on in there.  


_SCP-049._  


The Plague Doctor. The SCP (F/N)’s first friend here was terminated by. (F/N) shudders and looks at Alpha with pleading eyes. She doesn’t look back.  


Howe buzzes the intercom system right by the window pane. “ _SCP-049, steer clear of the door. It is opening._ ”  


The cell door slowly slides open, and (F/N) can see the cloaked figure turn toward it. (F/N)’s heart jolts at the sight of its white, sharp, and curved beak mask. _Just like a plague doctor._  


The facility guards keep their guns trained on (F/N) and Alpha. MTF slowly removes her waist and neck restraints before ending with her wrist shackles. Alpha rubs her wrists and then cracks her neck once freed. Her mask turns to (F/N), completely ignoring all of the guns on her.  


“Let’s go, (N/N),” she says and then walks in. (F/N) swallows and then looks at Howe. He nods and points to the cell door. (F/N) looks at the guards, Dave, and MTF. They now have their guns on (him/her).  


(F/N) shudders and turns, stepping through the door. The door immediately slams shut with a terrifying leap of (his/her) heart. (F/N) doesn’t study the room… (His/Her) eyes lock onto the plague doctor. It and Alpha stare at (F/N) quietly, Alpha right next to the other humanoid. SCP-049 is noticeably taller than Alpha, which means, it’s taller than (F/N). The Plague Doctor deliberately sets down its scalpel and bistoury. (F/N)’s heart races, noticing its gloved hands are painted with crimson with that clear, metallic smell. The Plague Doctor fully faces (F/N) and Alpha leans against the table, only watching (F/N) and the SCP.  


(F/N) stands (his/her) ground, but (he/she) looks at Alpha, eyes pleading. Alpha only slightly tilts her head and leans forward. (F/N)’s eyes dart to 049’s beak mask, (his/her) heart jumping when the tip of the beak leans so that it nearly brushes (F/n)’s nose.  


(F/N) leans back and so does 049.  


“Strange.”  


The deep, masculine, and somewhat _robotic_ voice from the SCP startles (F/N). 049 only tilts his head at (F/N)’s response. 049 suddenly reaches forward, its black, gloved hand slowly outstretching toward (F/N).  


(F/N) bites (his/her) lip, a thought resurrecting within (his/her) mind. _D-7645 died immediately from his touch._  


(F/N) abruptly backs away, and 049 ceases his outreach. 049 drops his arm and then looks at Alpha.  


“Shy, this one is,” he says to her.  


Alpha nods. “Indeed, (he/she) is. She was like that with me.” Alpha slides off the table and then looks at (F/N). “Calm down, child. He means you no harm. He’s my friend. The folks here call him 049, but I call him _Crow_.”  


049 looks at (F/N), his stormy blue eyes glinting from behind the mask. (F/N) diverts (his/her) gaze swiftly.  


“Crow, this is (F/N), but I call (him/her) (N/N).”  


(F/N) becomes flustered now that another SCP knows Alpha’s nickname.  


049 flexes his fingers, still watching (F/N). (F/N) looks at the operating table, but from this angle, all (he/she) can see is fur.  


_So it’s an animal… I guess that’s a bit better than a person._  


(F/N) snaps (his/her) gaze to 049 when the Plague Doctor approaches slowly again. His steps steadily echo, heel to toe, uncomfortably precise. Alpha crosses her arms with a form of scolding stare. (F/N) didn’t know what expression contorted behind her mask, but something in the back of (his/her) mind said to stay in place.  


049 reaches out again.  


(F/N)’s heart thumps faster.  


The hand is inches away.  


(F/N) feels cold.  


The hand gently grips (his/her) shoulder…  


_Nothing._  


Perhaps it couldn’t kill (him/her). 049 was touching (his/her) jumpsuit! (F/N) relaxes slightly, feeling 049 massaging his thumb against (F/N)’s shoulder. Then his hand slowly slides to (his/her) exposed neck.  


The racing heart resumes.  


_No… my skin! Skin contact!_  


_Oh, don’t sicken yourself,_ Alpha’s voice suddenly scolds from the back of (his/her) head.  


(F/N) looks at the Thaumiel SCP, fear advertising within (his/her) eyes. Alpha only stares back and shakes her head.  


049’s middle and index finger press onto (F/N)’s neck.  


(F/N) squeezes (his/her) eyes shut, expecting (his/her) blood to run cold, (his/her) heart to immediately stop, (his/her) muscles to spasm and collapse, for darkness to consume (him/her) and swallow whatever life source may still be present within (his/her) delicate frame.  


_Nothing._  


This was lasting too long.  


(F/N) opens (his/her) eyes slowly, just as 049 pulls away. (F/N) releases a sigh of relief, watching the doctor as he strides back to Alpha. Alpha uncrosses her arms and looks at 049.  


“I am pleased that (F/N) doesn’t hold the Pestilence,” 049 states to her. Alpha seems to relax and she nods.  


_Pestilence?_  


Alpha glances at (F/N) and then back to 049 as he adds, “But it’s there… spreading itself like a thick oil over (his/her) skin, yet not penetrating the bloodstream.” 049 looks at (F/N), his blue eyes glimmering with anticipation. “Tell me, (F/N), if you know anything about your pestilence?”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes. “My… My pestilence?” (F/N) shakes (his/her) head. “What do you mean?”  


049 sighs and looks at Alpha. Alpha only shrugs. 049 looks back at (F/N), almost seeming to glare. “The Great Pestilence has plagued humanity since the beginning of their time, (F/N). It is my job to cure it before it gets out of hand.” 049 strides to the operating table and then taps his knuckles on it. “Unfortunately, I need creatures of human anatomies to work more on my effective cure. While chimpanzees and orangutans do suffice, I prefer actual _human_ specimens.” He looks at (F/N). “I suppose you want to know what the Pestilence is?”  


(F/N) glances between Alpha and the Plague Doctor. _Might as well._ (F/N) nods.  


049 sighs. “That is what Alpha has been helping me with. The cure!” He grabs his surgical utensils and poises himself over the animal he is operating on. “The doctors here have theories as to what it is. It is not the Black Death, I assure you, but it is a world-ending ailment. Alpha, you can share what you hypothesize what the Pestilence is. I do like your take on it.”  


(F/N) looks at Alpha.  


Alpha shifts and looks at her Chosen One, straightening. “Some believe it is a physical disease, such as Black Death or even Ebola. Others believe it is willpower. _I_ believe it is sin.”  


(F/N) lifts (his/her) head and then looks at 049. The Plague Doctor’s blue eyes glint at (him/her). “I am a man of faith, (F/N). The Lord had sent me to cease these great pestilences. I didn’t sense the Pestilence here a while ago, but ever since… _D-Classes_ started coming here, I’ve felt the Pestilence lick the walls of this facility.”  


“Um… sir?” (F/N) finally musters the courage to ask. Alpha snaps her head toward (him/her), almost surprised that (he/she) spoke. 049’s gaze toward (F/N) is calm and soft, and he pauses on slicing into the creature.  


“Yes, (F/N)?”  


“Your touch kills, right? So, why --”  


“It doesn’t kill, (F/N),” 049 nearly snaps. This surprises (F/N), but not enough to inject fear. “It _cures_. I _cure_ people, I never kill!” 049 sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. “However, my cure is not _perfect_. I am still improving it… and dear Alpha is aiding me in my endeavors.”  


Alpha nods.  


(F/N) nods and clears (his/her) throat. “I’m sorry if I offended you, sir, I didn’t mean it.” (F/N) didn’t know why (he/she) was being kind to this… murderer. Perhaps the little time of being an SCP got (him/her) used to the fact (he/she)’s an SCP?  


_I’m starting to feel like one of them…_  


049 nods. “That is all right.” The doctor sets aside his tools and lifts strings attached to a hook and needle.  


As 049 stitches the creature, (F/N) continues, “Well, you touched me, so does that mean… I’m immune to your cure?”  


“That doesn’t alarm me, given the fact you’re an… SCP, as they call it,” 049 explains. “And SCPs are entities _beyond_ their understanding, (F/N). The SCPs are immune to my cure, but sometimes, my cure helps ease their minds. What worries me about _you_ is that it coats your skin, yet it’s not penetrating.”  


(F/N) rubs (his/her) arms and glances at Alpha. “Will it?”  


049 hums. “I don’t know. But as a doctor, it’ll be my duty to ensure that you are not infected, dear (F/N).”  


Alpha suddenly strides around to the opposite end of the operating table, grabbing a catlin and some locking forceps. She leans over and also starts working on whatever animal they’re working on.  


“Were there more like you, sir?” (F/N) suddenly asks.  


Alpha glances at (F/N) and 049 chuckles. “There is _no one_ like me, child.”  


“I get it now. I meant in the _past_.” (F/N) crosses (his/her) arms, subconsciously growing more confident. “Clearly, you’ve been around for a while. How long?”  


049 sighs and glances at Alpha. “I’ve been around for centuries, my dear. Not as long as Alpha here, but a while. And no, there was no one like me in the past. I was my only self.”  


“What about other plague doctors in the… sixteenth century I think?”  


“If you’re talking about those who wore masks like mine, it’s the _seventeenth_ century, child,” 049 corrects. “And yes, I have, but none like me.”  


“He never stayed in one place for long, (F/N),” Alpha mentions, not looking at (him/her). “He always traveled, and that’s how he met 035.”  


“035 and I are old friends,” 049 nods. “And _good_ friends.”  


“Can you remove the mask?” (F/N) asks.  


“No,” 049 states, almost bluntly. “It is a part of me. I was born like this. The same goes for my clothing… it may appear like nothing more than fabric to your naked eye, but my clothes are a piece of me as well. It cannot be removed… to an extent.”  


(F/N) squints (his/her) eyes. “What do you mean, ‘to an extent’?”  


Alpha glances at 049 and snickers, but 049 shakes his head slightly. “That is enough questions for today, (F/N).”  


(F/N) frowns and glances at the window pane. (He/She) looks back at the dark duo, so enticed into their work that they may have forgotten that (F/N) stands nearly ten feet away from the operating table.  


(F/N) huffs and rocks on (his/her) feet, watching the two dark entities work in almost complete silence. (F/N) would cringe every time (he/she) would hear a fleshy, squelching noise. (F/N) perks up when Alpha raises her head, but she doesn’t look at (him/her). She looks at 049.  


“Crow, où voulez-vous que?” she asks.  


(F/N) tilts (his/her) head, cocking a brow. (He/She) sees Alpha point at something with her scalpel.  


“Il n’est pas d’importance,” 049 implies, his voice now heavied with a French accent. “Vous pouvez le laisser bve. Ah, Je vois votre Français S'est amélioré.”  


Alpha chuckles. “Merci.”  


049 suddenly glances at (F/N). (F/N) tenses.  


_Are they talking about me?_  


“Qu'en est-il de lui?” 049 flicks his head toward (F/N) and (his/her) heart flutters. Alpha stares at (him/her) for a bit and then she points at (him/her) with a bloody scalpel.  


“(N/N), come here,” she says. “You come help.”  


She holds the handles of the sharp medical tools toward (F/N). (F/N) squints at Alpha but takes a tentative step forward. (F/N) cranes (his/her) neck and stands on (his/her) tiptoes to get a better view of the animal. (F/N) can see furry arms extend from under the blanket, the thin fabric professionally covering its head and lower half. Its midsection is exposed and pried apart by tissue retractors and locking forceps. (F/N) feels as if to gag from the gory sight. (F/N) sets (his/her) feet flat and then approaches the table once 049 looks at (him/her).  


Ensuring that (F/N) is coming, 049 looks down at the ape and then proceeds to meticulously push away some organs, going after another organ. (F/N) approaches Alpha, and Alpha flicks her head to her left.  


“Gloves are beside me. You can put them on,” she retorts.  


(F/N) nods and looks to (his/her) right, reaching toward a cardboard box full of elastic, white gloves. (F/N) carefully pulls them on to (his/her) elbows, gentle enough not to rip them. Once done, (F/N) faces Alpha, holding (his/her) hands in the air. (He/She) gently grabs the handle of the scalpel and a small artery forcep. Alpha moves away and (F/N) stands in her place.  


(F/N) nearly gags at the putrid, metallic smell of rot, staring down at the organs of the small ape. 049 uses a curved bistoury to cut underneath the ape’s liver while holding some flesh of the liver up with his artery forcep.  


(F/N) notices 049’s blazing blue eyes flicker toward (him/her). “(F/N), hold the liver with your forcep, please.”  


(F/N) nods, slowly lowering (his/her) arm with the forcep. Once the tweezer makes contact with the liver right by his forcep and bistoury, (F/N) squeezes and the tweezer tightly holds the organ up. 049 moves his forcep away and grabs a small amputation knife. (F/N) takes a step back while holding onto the liver, straightening (his/her) arm, and turning away from the gruesome sight. (F/N) tries to hold (his/her) breath to not breathe in the putrid smell. (He/She) tries to avoid Alpha’s blank gaze.  


(F/N) can hear 049 work, sometimes hearing the slight tings of blades clashing. Alpha looks away from (F/N) and watches 049 work instead. After a few moments, 049 tells (F/N) (he/she) can lower the liver. (F/N) does so without looking and then swiftly retracts (his/her) arm away from the cadaver. (F/N) looks and watches 049 thread a string to a hook.  


“Remove the retractors and forceps, please, (F/N),” 049 states, not looking at (him/her).  


(F/N) nods and flexes (his/her) fingers. (He/She) glances at 049 (who pays no attention to [F/N]) and then reaches over. (He/She) carefully removes the retractors and clips off the forceps on 049’s side and then does the same on (his/her) side. Once done, 049 folds over the flaps of tissue and skin and then begins stitching.  


(F/N) backs away, giving the Plague Doctor space as he sews the animal. Once done, 049 sets aside his equipment and grabs a rag. (F/N) freezes when (he/she) realizes 049 stares (him/her) down as he uses the rag to wipe the blood from his hands. (F/N) shifts and diverts (his/her) gaze.  


049 glances at Alpha and the female anomaly stares at the operated ape like something is going to happen. (F/N) also stares at the animal. 049 removes the sheets, exposing a black chimpanzee on the operating table.  


Alpha’s right hand grasps (F/N)’s arm, startling (him/her). Alpha pulls (him/her) back slightly, still looking at the chimpanzee. They stand there for nearly three minutes, staring at the chimpanzee. (F/N) looks up and tilts (his/her) head, not realizing 049 had sat down, his legs crossed and a pen aimed at a leather, antique journal. He isn’t writing; he stares at the chimpanzee. Then he looks down and writes. (F/N) frowns and looks at Alpha questioningly.  


“What’s --?”  


“Shh,” Alpha shushes softly. “It takes a moment sometimes.”  


(F/N) tilts (his/her) head and then looks at the chimpanzee. Abruptly, (F/N)’s stomach churns when one of the chimpanzee’s hands twitch. The ape suddenly sits up, its speed abnormal. 049 began scratching his pen frantically in his journal.  


_What is he writing?_  


_His findings,_ Alpha thinks. The SCP moves away from (F/N), but (F/N) watches the chimpanzee jolt to its feet. Its abnormal, swift movements startle (him/her). Alpha strides to 049, the Plague Doctor halting his notes and his beak pointing up to Alpha’s mask, his blue eyes flashing.  


(F/N) can see it isn’t a flash of pride but a flash of disinterest. (F/N) can tell whatever _this_ is didn’t please him; his foot in the air violently shakes and he taps the end of his pen on his wrist while still intensely staring at Alpha.  


(F/N) watches the chimp simply fall off the table with a thud. (He/She) presses (his/her) lips into a thin line while flaring (his/her) nostrils, suppressing an amused snort. The thud directs the two entities’ attention and their unamused stare at the ape fades (F/N)’s amusement.  


The chimp seems unfazed by the fall, crawling with bowlegged limbs that seem to pop from its sockets. The sight disgusts and intrigues (F/N). (F/N) tenses and snaps (his/her) gaze to 049 when he slams his journal shut, slipping both it and his pen into his cloak. They seem to… disappear without any trace of a former existence. This confuses (F/N) more.  


Alpha crosses her arms and moves aside, 049 walking past her. 049 points to a corner while staring at the chimp. The chimp obeys without protest, chittering and shuffling toward the wall by the corner. (F/N) tenses when the Plague Doctor looks at (him/her) as he slowly lowers his arm.  


049 stares for a moment and then turns to Alpha. “There’s nothing left to do, my dear. Unfortunately, it seems I’ve hit a roadblock. They deny me human specimens, so I cannot truly continue my research.”  


Alpha sighs and nods. “You did look displeased, Crow. I’m sorry.”  


049 nods and looks at (F/N). “I thank you for your help, (F/N). It was greatly appreciated.”  


(F/N) nods and looks at the zombie chimp, seeing it slumped in the corner. “Uh… resurrecting it seems like an accomplishment, in my book. Why are you displeased, sir?”  


049 glances at the chimp and then back to (F/N). “It’s useless to my research. While animals can hold the Pestilence, my primary goal is to help mankind. Yes, I’ve cured this chimpanzee in a sense…” He gestures to the ape… “but it lacks a mind and its memories. It only has its motor skills and lacks most of its working systems. I’ll only call it an accomplishment if I ever _perfectly_ cure a human of their pestilence, meaning they obtain their memories after surgery, their systems and body functions successfully operate, and they maintain an independent mind. I have hit a dead end… this is exactly like my last human patient, and all of the animals I have been given here.”  


“Minus the Hamm incident,” Alpha retorts in the background as she raises an index finger, matter-of-factly.  


049 glances at her. “Ah, yes, Dr. Raymond Hamm… while it was an effective cure, it still wasn’t perfect.” 049’s blue eyes gleam at (F/N). “That is why I have Alpha here. Alpha will aid me. She had promised me to help me with my journey as I’ll help her with hers. And we need you, (F/N). You are destined to help us with greater needs.”  


049 takes a few deliberate steps toward (F/N), and the human stands (his/her) ground. (He/She) finally musters the courage to stand (his/her) ground.  


“As it states in my prophecy,” Alpha retorts.  


(F/N) looks at her, catching a millisecond long glimpse of a golden flash behind the black netting of her mask’s eye holes. “Prophecy? I’m in a prophecy?”  


“Not exactly, but you’re implied,” Alpha retorts with no emotion.  


(F/N) gazes at 049. “Uh… have you requested for human specimens?” _Why am I asking that?_  


049 nods. “An abundance of times. I’ve been denied every time, especially after I cured Hamm. These humans are misguided and seem to think my cure kills.”  


(F/N) nods. “I can see the confusion.” In reality, (he/she) doesn’t. His “cure” does kill, and he doesn’t realize it. How does he not realize it? (F/N) hopes for the best for 049, as he genuinely seems he does want to help people, but it feels like he’ll zombify millions before coming up with the perfect cure. Has he even invented a vaccine for this “Pestilence?” _I don’t think there’s a cure or vaccine for sins._  


049 tilts his head at (F/N), his eyes in deep thought. (F/N) notices and clears (his/her) throat.  


“Ah, sir?” (F/N) clasps (his/her) hands in front of (his/her) groin. 049 perks up his beak and stares fondly at (F/N). “May I ask the symptoms of the Pestilence, in case I get it? Or even how to avoid it?”  


049 lifts his beak more slightly and then turns to Alpha. She only stares back at him. The Plague Doctor snaps to (F/N), clasping his hands together loudly, linking his fingers together. “It is hard for me to explain how to avoid it… if Alpha is correct in her theory, I believe forgiveness from your Lord is your best vaccine. I am a man of faith after all, and I am reasonable with the Lord. As for symptoms… mmm, I would have to say ignorance. It’s different when you don’t know the disease, but to ignore it…” 049 tuts. “In this case, ignorance _isn’t_ bliss. It is logical to fear the disease, but it’s illogical to fear its cure. I don’t understand when my patients cower when I simply try to help them.”  


(F/N) sighs. “I don’t think reaching for their neck helps, in all honesty.”  


“I see.” 049 looks at the ground, in thought. He snaps his beak up again. “How do you suppose I approach a patient, then, (F/N)?”  


(F/N) rubs (his/her) arm and shrugs. “Just don’t reach for their neck, that’s all.”  


Alpha harrumphs and saunters to 049. “Crow, I fear our time is up.”  


049 looks at her and nods. He looks at the window pane. “Dr. Howe!”  


The intercom buzzes. “ _Yes, 049?_ ”  


“I will stand aside as MTF restrains them,” 049 states. “Alpha and (F/N) are ready to leave.” 049 backs away, back to the operating table. (F/N) slips past him when his hand suddenly lashes and grabs (F/N)’s wrist. (F/N) startles, (his/her) nose tingling at the sensation of 049’s beak so close to touching.  


(F/N)’s heart pounds, (his/her) breaths heavying as 049’s grip tightens. (F/N) wonders if anything (he/she) said to the SCP was wrong, if (he/she) is somehow going to die… _Alpha won’t let me die, right?_ (F/N) would’ve felt his breath from how close his face was, but (he/she) feels nothing.  


The cell door rumbles open.  


049’s blue eyes blink, and then his eyes lock on (F/N)’s (e/c) eyes again. “Behave yourself, (F/N),” 049 whispers as MTF enters the cell, a guard aiming his gun at 049. “Otherwise, you may get hurt, or worse, the Pestilence will finally penetrate through that smooth skin of yours.” With his other hand, 049 strokes (F/N)’s cheek with his thumb.  


(F/N) cringes.  


“Release (him/her), 049!” the MTF soldier orders.  


049 continues his stare and then unfurls his fingers, allowing (F/N) to slip (his/her) arm from his hand. (F/N) and 049’s eyes remain locked until (F/N) forces (himself/herself) to look away. Alpha is restrained again and MTF guides her out the cell as the last MTF soldier directs (F/N) away.  


When the cell door slams shut, (F/N) feels relieved, yet didn’t want to leave. To (him/her), 049 feels like Alpha; he is unpredictable, terrifying, yet in a weird, bloodcurdling sense… _trustworthy_.  


(F/N)’s (e/c) eyes glance around frantically as MTF leads them further into Sublevel 3. _We’re not done?_  


_No,_ Alpha’s voice calmly echoes in the back of (F/N)’s mind. _We have one more._  


_Who?_  


_You’ll see._  


(F/N) frowns and then watches the ground for most of the transport, glancing at the bottom of the walls. (F/N) listen to each individual footstep, to the heavy and to the light. (F/N) lifts (his/her) head and sighs softly.  


_This is all happening so fast._  


Just a few days ago, (F/N) was an ordinary D-Class, two weeks away from termination. (He/She) would do (his/her) daily chores of cleaning SCP enclosures and obeying the guards. (F/N) was an ordinary human. (F/N) would deal with ordinary problems and cope with (his/her) past. Now, (F/N) is an SCP, an anomaly, after a stronger and more powerful anomaly branded (him/her) as if (he/she) were its slave. (F/N) has no choice but to follow this god-made weapon.  


Whether (he/she) likes it or not.  


But perhaps, (F/N) can find a way to escape Alpha’s petrifying grasp at the right moment? Or should (he/she) stay with this SCP and all of the other SCPs that Alpha can possibly free?  


(F/N) has a gut feeling that Alpha will cause a containment breach, and no one will be able to stop her.  


(F/N) fades out of (his/her) thoughts as they enter a large, empty, cemented room lit up brightly. When (F/N)’s eyes adjust to the bright lights, (he/she) realizes that the room isn’t completely empty; multiple facility guards roam around in a cohesive unit, watching a massive black box in the middle of the vast room.  


The black box says “096.”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes, having heard 096’s name before, but (he/she) isn’t too sure on _what_ it is. Yet, MTF persists on bringing (F/N) and Alpha closer to the box. As they get closer, (F/N) spots a steel, black door. MTF brings Alpha nearly two feet away from the door and clicks off her restraints.  


Alpha rolls her shoulders and looks back at (F/N), jerking her head toward the door. (F/N) swallows nervously and then steps up to Alpha, stopping next to her.  


“Steer clear of the door!” (F/N) hears a MTF soldier shout. In (his/her) peripheral, (he/she) sees facility guards move away from the box.  


Alpha turns her head the slightest, peering at (F/N). “Don’t look at him.”  


(F/N) snaps (his/her) head to Alpha. “Hmm?”  


“Don’t look at him,” she repeats. “He needs to trust you before you see his face. Look at the ground once inside before I say it’s okay.”  


(F/N) gives Alpha a worrying look and then slowly looks at the black steel door. 096. (He/She) now remembers what 096 is.  


The door opens, the metal rectangle sliding up from supporting metal beams. Alpha immediately steps inside, grabbing (F/N)’s wrist and pulling (him/her) inside. (F/N)’s eyes immediately fall to the pale floor, the door rumbling down once they’re inside. It shuts all the way, the box filling with heavy sobs, moans, and shuddering breaths. Alpha releases (F/N)’s arm and (F/N) listens to her quick footsteps.  


The creature’s sobs suddenly cease.  


“My dear, what have they done to you?” (F/N) hears Alpha’s worried and… _panicked_ voice.  


_She’s worried? That’s new._  


(F/N) hears 096 whine and sob again only for it to suddenly stop. Alpha sighs.  


“(N/N), come here,” Alpha orders, but her voice is soft. Soft… like a _mother_. (F/N) frowns but doesn’t fret. (F/N) takes a step forward, quickly glancing through the tops of (his/her) eyes to see where Alpha’s dark form is. Her dark form squats beside a sitting and curled pale form. (F/N) stops and turns (his/her) head to (his/her) left, avoiding eye contact with 096 while keeping Alpha in (his/her) peripheral. Alpha grabs (F/N)’s bicep and gently pulls (him/her) down to sit. (F/N) complies. (F/N) allows Alpha to grab (his/her) right arm and pull it somewhere.  


(F/N)’s eyes widen and (his/her) heart flutters when (his/her) fingers brush cold, dry skin. (He/She) feels the creature squirm from the touch, and 096 whimpers. Alpha shushes and soothes the creature, like a mother to a crying infant. It only takes a moment when (F/N) starts to squirm and tries to twist (his/her) hand from Alpha’s grasp. Alpha tugs at (F/N).  


“Stop,” she states, her voice still soft. “(N/N), stay calm.” Alpha releases her grasp on (F/N)’s arm slowly. Knowing nothing well can come out of pissing off an SCP, (F/N) keeps (his/her) fingers on the skin of 096. (F/N) rubs (his/her) lips together in thought.  


_The ability to communicate with other SCPs…_  


(F/N) softly sighs and slowly leans toward 096 while keeping (his/her) gaze away, sliding (his/her) entire hand onto 096’s… arm, it feels like. (F/N) can feel the lack of muscle and flesh from its malnourished body, and (he/she) starts to feel sympathy for this creature. (F/N) slides (his/her) hand further up 096’s arm, feeling his bony joint and -- (F/N) freezes. (His/Her) fingers run into a crevasse in the creature, the feeling wet, unnatural, and deep. 096 shudders and whines from the touch and (F/N) swiftly retracts (his/her) hand. (His/Her) fingers are covered in blood.  


“Those fuckers did this,” Alpha growls and (F/N) looks at her. “They are trying to find a way to terminate him… they found a way to wound him enough that his regeneration is slower than normal.” (F/N) watches her reach her arm out past (his/her) peripheral, and 096 whimpers beside (him/her).  


(F/N) starts to turn (his/her) head to look but then immediately stops (himself/herself). 096 whimpers and grasps at (F/N)’s jumpsuit, picking at the fabric with its bony, abnormally long, pale fingers. Alpha’s gentle gaze directs to (F/N).  


“He wants you,” she says.  


“To do what?”  


“Comfort,” Alpha only says.  


(F/N) looks down and then abruptly leans into 096. 096 takes this act of kindness as no surprise as the pale man only leans into (F/N), pushing his pale, bald head into (his/her) chest. (F/N) lifts (his/her) head to avoid eye contact with his face.  


“You can look at him now, (F/N),” Alpha retorts softly while standing.  


(F/N) shakes (his/her) head. (He/She) knows that this creature can enter a stage of distress and brutally rip (him/her) apart into nothing but a pile of organs, tissue, and blood within two seconds by just looking at his face. (He/She) doesn’t want to risk it!  


Alpha sighs. “It’s okay, (N/N). Look at him. He wouldn’t be clinging to you if he didn’t trust you.”  


_Just like that, he trusts me?_  


“It’s because you didn’t hurt him,” Alpha adds.  


(F/N) huffs and listens to the pale creature whimper into (his/her) jumpsuit, gently grasping at (his/her) shoulders and pressing himself against (him/her) as if it wants protection. The sobs entice (F/N), arguing against (his/her) thoughts about keeping (his/her) eyes away.  


(F/N) looks down and looks into the milky eyes of 096.


	8. The Interview

(F/N) enters an interrogation room as Dave stands behind (him/her). The room is clean, sparkling clean, a rectangular table centered in the boxy room. A tape recorder and notepad sit in front of a patient, slightly obese man. The man, who appears to be a scientist, reminds (F/N) of a teddy bear. A scrubby beard envelopes his lower jaw, which branches into sideburns. He dons glasses over his blue eyes.  


From this angle, (F/N) cannot see his nametag.  


(F/N) is alone; (he/she) was left on Sublevel 3 while Alpha was transported back to her cell on Sublevel 4. (F/N) had been told by Dave that (he/she) has been summoned for an interview, and as the new SCP in the Foundation, interviews will continue daily right before Alpha’s interviews. This all unfolded right after the rather short visit with 096.  


The scientist gestures to the empty seat in front of him. “Please, take a seat,” he states, his voice unusually soft for a man his size. “And, I’m sorry about this, but it’s protocol.” His blue eyes dart behind (F/N) and then he nods.  


(F/N) snaps (his/her) head toward Dave and the guard approaches swiftly with cuffs. (F/N) only has time to widen (his/her) eyes when Dave slaps the cuffs on, forcing (his/her) arms behind (him/her). (F/N) becomes shocked, nearly as shocked as the time (he/she) was arrested.  


(F/N) swears (he/she) hears Dave mumble an apology.  


(F/N) bites (his/her) lip and tugs at the metal restraints. (He/She) growls softly and glares at the empty chair at the table. _If only I could share Alpha’s powers… I’d break these cuffs!_  


With an exasperated sigh, (F/N) deliberately steps toward the chair, kicking it away slightly and collapsing (his/her) hips to the metal seat. (F/N) intently stares at the doctor as (his/her) fingers flex behind (his/her) back.  


Dave closes the door to the interrogation room, and the doctor clicks a button on his tape recorder. He leans over and speaks into the recorder:  


“Tape One, interviewer Dr. ████████ Kondraki and being interviewed is SCP-A2. Under the recommendation of Dr. █████ Bosch and the 05 Council, SCP-A2 is required for daily interviews with Level 3 personnel or higher.” Dr. Kondraki looks at (F/N) and (F/N) only intensely stares back. “Begin Log. SCP-A2, I would like for you to describe your first visit with SCP-049.”  


(F/N) glances at the tape recorder. “Confusing.” _And terrifying._  


“What were you confused about?”  


(F/N) purses (his/her) lip. “The whole… Pestilence thing.”  


“How about your visit with SCP-096?”  


(F/N) shudders. How _was_ that visit? “Interesting… 096… didn’t hurt me when I looked at h-- it.”  


“Why do you think that is?”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes at the man. “I don’t know. Al-- ah, SCP-049-96 told me I could look, so I did. I think it’s because I’m an SCP.”  


“SCP-096 has been known to attack SCPs,” Kondraki adds, clasping his meaty hands together.  


(F/N) huffs. “Alph-- er, SCP-049-96 said he -- it -- needed to trust me.”  


“It’s all right if you want to address SCP-049-96 by its name, SCP-A2,” Kondraki retorts with a nod. “You are not a doctor, therefore you are not in the profession to address it by code. For us doctors, it is unprofessional to address any SCP or D-Class by names or nicknames, though on most occasions, we do ponder their real names.”  


“Must you know my real name, sir?” (F/N) asks.  


“I already know it, from your file, SCP-A2.” Kondraki looks at his notepad, lifting it to view it better. “How about your first visit with SCP-049-96?”  


(F/N) shrugs. “I barely remember…” It’s true. (F/N) could barely remember. The experience had been so terrifying and painful that it is all a millisecond-long blur. “It’s a lot like childbirth,” (F/N) adds, smoothing (his/her) voice to make (himself/herself) sound intimidating, intelligent. “The pain is so excruciating that the mother forgets the experience. It was kind of like that.”  


“What _do_ you remember, SCP-A2?”  


(F/N) leans into the chair, hearing the cuffs clank against the seat. “A dark form on top of me, forcing my mouth open. It’s all a blur, but I remember feeling absolutely petrified.”  


Kondraki nods and looks at his notepad. “What information have you obtained on SCP-049-96’s plan so far?”  


(F/N) stares at Kondraki, surprise riddling (his/her) face. _Plan?_ (F/N) had almost forgotten Alpha had a plan… that’s right! (F/N) looks at the doctor. “No. In fact, I almost forgot she had a plan. All I know is that I was implied in her prophecy. She hasn’t made any moves, sir. Ah, but she did tell me that I share her powers.”  


Kondraki nods and then scribbles something into his notepad. He looks back at (F/N). “I want to clear up your past, SCP-A2. I want to pinpoint _exactly_ why SCP-049-96 chose you.”  


(F/N) shifts and darts (his/her) eyes around the room. “No. I don’t want to.”  


“SCP-A2, you _will_ cooperate,” Kondraki states. “I came here all the way from Site-17 because I was requested by Dr. Cimmerian to pursue this when he is busy. Otherwise, you will be transported back to SCP-049-96’s cell with force.”  


(F/N) curls (his/her) lip and squirms from Kondraki’s stare. “Fine.”  


“Your report says you were caught for grand larceny. You stole valuable products from grocery stores and jewelry shops, which was later discovered you sold for money. You have also been arrested for arson by lighting fires around the neighboring houses of your hometown.” (F/N) squirms more as (his/her) lip quivers. Kondraki pauses and takes a mental note of (F/N)’s reaction. “And… you were also arrested for mass homicide. You killed a family in cold blood, _your_ family--" (F/N) flinches-- "and a few casualties in the fires you produced. You didn't resist arrest, but you were screaming incoherently, the officers reported. Now, that's all on paper." Kondraki slams his notepad on the table and (F/N) flinches. "I want to hear _your_ side of the story." 

(F/N) slowly lowers (his/her) gaze to the floor, eyes blazing with warm, salty tears. (His/Her) lip quivers and (he/she) shakes (his/her) head. The blood… oh, the blood. So much blood… so much fire… so many screams… the pleads… the cries for help…  


_“(F/N)!”_  


(F/N) startles, the back of (his/her) mind singing with the pleads and cries of children. The voices were of a small boy and girl, screaming, crying, calling (his/her) name. Multiple tears suddenly streak (his/her) face. The screams and pleads of those little, familiar children plague and corrupt into (F/N)’s mind… shrieking… sobbing…  


(F/N) tries to bring (his/her) hands to (his/her) face, but the cuffs stop (him/her). (He/She) wants to scratch at (his/her) temple, to make (his/her) scalp bleed, as the distant screams drive (F/N) into insanity once again. (He/She) doesn’t realize (he/she) is shrieking at the top of (his/her) lungs.  


(F/N) doesn’t realize Dave ran in, shaking (him/her) violently. (F/N) doesn’t realize Kondraki ended the tape recording and abruptly bolted from his seat. (F/N) doesn’t realize (he/she) screams until (his/her) throat runs dry and raw. (He/She) screams until (he/she) faints.  


_Oh, child,_ Alpha whispers.  


_Alpha…_ Even within a deep, exhausted sleep, (F/N)’s mind is wide awake. (He/She) sees an ocean of black, with only the soothing, mothering voice of Alpha to calm (F/N)’s overactive nerves. (F/N)’s telepathic voice heavies with tears and depression, and (F/N) is unafraid of Alpha’s reaction toward (his/her) vulnerability.  


_You still have a lot to tell me,_ Alpha says.  


_I know…_  


Alpha audibly sighs, the exhalation echoing. _It’s okay for now, child… I’m here._ Through (F/N)’s sleep, (he/she) feels pressure on (his/her) arm, but (F/N) doesn’t wake.  


_What happened?_  


_They escorted you back here. You’re passed out._  


(F/N) shudders a breath.  


_(N/N), I want you to promise me something._  


A moment of silence. _Okay, sure… what?_  


_Never tell the staff here about our plan._  


_Okay… but to be fair, I don’t even know our plan, Alpha._  


_That’s good, for now. You’ll know when the time comes._ Alpha sighs. _But it’s important not to tell them, in case I tell you soon._  


_What will happen if I do?_  


Alpha becomes silent… eerily silent. After a moment of awkward, uncomfortable silence, Alpha answers, _We’ll be terminated._


	9. So That was the Plan

When (F/N) rouses, (he/she) is greeted by the startling appearance of Alpha’s mask. (F/N)’s heart jumps but not (his/her) body. Alpha watches (F/N) slowly sit up, her gloved right hand grasping (F/N)’s forearm.  


“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she states and then stands. “I’m sure you received plenty of rest after your breakdown.”  


(F/N) shudders a breath as (he/she) rubs a hand over (his/her) sweaty face. (His/Her) skin pricks as it stretches from the tendons that twitch in (F/N)’s face; tears have dried over (his/her) (s/c) skin. (F/N) stares at the dark covers on Alpha’s bed, the comfortable sheets wrapped tightly around (F/N)’s body. (F/N) feels too weak to slip from the bed, (his/her) lips chapped, mouth dry, and (his/her) stomach suddenly growls.  


“How long was I out, Alpha?” (F/N) quietly asks, watching the Thaumiel entity recede to the furthermost corner, an easel supporting a large canvas that faces away from (F/N) and the personnel behind the glass.  


Alpha grabs her palette and a few small brushes between her gloved fingers. She slides onto a tall stool in front of her painting and hums as she continues stroking the brush at whatever she is painting. “A few days.”  


“Explains why I’m starving…”  


(F/N) glances at the one-way view window pane and then back to Alpha. Alpha nods to her studio desk. “There’s an apple and a water bottle from my breakfast I left for you, (N/N).”  


(F/N) stares at the bright, appetizing apple and water that sparkles from her desk lamp. (F/N) licks (his/her) lips, knowing it isn’t much, but the energy source is worth it. (He/She) curls (his/her) toes in (his/her) boots and looks at Alpha again.  


“Uh… I can’t…” Alpha pauses her painting and peers at (F/N), slightly turning her head to peer through the black netting in her eye holes… “I’m afraid I’ll…” (F/N) sighs and throws aside the sheets, exposing (his/her) orange pants and brown boots. It’s not worth appearing so vulnerable to the SCP… she might change her mind about (him/her). (F/N) decides not to display such a weakness, such as one asking the powerful entity to bring the fruit and beverage to (him/her).  


_I can get it myself!_  


Expecting Alpha to laugh, chuckle, or snicker at (his/her) thought, (F/N) watches as Alpha looks back at her canvas and continues painting, without even a simple grunt of confirmation.  


(F/N) slowly swings (his/her) legs over the bed, (his/her) soles touching the hard, concrete floor. (F/N) glances at (his/her) feet and then to Alpha. “What are you painting?”  


“You’ll see.”  


(F/N) frowns. _Why does she always answer that?_  


(F/N) looks at (his/her) boots, tapping them against the cement. A numbing tingle vibrates through (his/her) flesh, (F/N)’s face contorting with disgust. The tingling ends with needles in (his/her) feet. (F/N) slowly slides off the bed and allows (his/her) feet to slowly press onto the ground. (F/N)’s nails dig into the edge of the mattress as (he/she) gains (his/her) stance -- only to crumble onto the floor with a yelp and thud.  


(F/N) slowly looks up, Alpha staring at (him/her) blankly and intensely. (F/N) couldn’t hear behind the glass pane, but (he/she) knows the snickers that ensue behind the wall. (His/Her) head transforms the imaginary snickers to condescending laughter. They suddenly cease when Alpha breaks the silence.  


“Child… are you all right?” Her voice becomes deep and silky, more of a concerned mother than anything. (F/N)’s eyes focus on Alpha, her mask tilted behind her canvas but staring at (F/N).  


“Uh, I’m fine,” (F/N) mutters while slowly pushing (himself/herself) up. (F/N) brings (his/her) knees onto the floor and sits up, abruptly slamming a boot on the ground all while balancing to regain feeling. (F/N) feels (his/her) muscles tingle and strain, fighting for strength as (F/N)’s eyes aim at the food and drink.  


(F/N) stops when Alpha’s stool squeals as the Thaumiel entity stands and strides to her desk. “Don’t strain yourself,” she remarks, her voice almost sounding snide.  


_Like a scolding mother._  


Alpha grabs the apple and water bottle and then walks to (F/N). She holds each item toward (him/her), and (F/N) hesitantly takes them. The water bottle is refreshingly cool. (F/N) immediately takes a bite of the fruit, its taste sweeter than most apples (F/N) has tried before. (F/N) crosses (his/her) legs while setting (himself/herself) in a better sitting position. After a few bites, (he/she) twists the cap off the bottle and drinks heavily.  


(F/N) lowers the bottle and notices that Alpha watches while she sits on her stool. Alpha looks away and continues to paint.  


(F/N) swallows a bite from the apple. “I could’ve gotten them on my own, you know.”  


“Your legs said otherwise,” Alpha retorts, not batting an eye.  


(F/N) sighs. “Well, I… I don’t want to appear weak to you, Alpha.”  


Alpha halts her brushstrokes and snaps her mask toward (F/N). “You’re not weak,” she mutters. “Just dehydrated and starving.”  


(F/N) nods and continues to chomp at the apple. “Alpha, why do you call me ‘child?’”  


“Well, you _are_ significantly younger than I am.”  


“You act like a mother.” (F/N) drinks from (his/her) water.  


“That’s because you are of younger intellect.”  


(F/N) frowns, not sure if that is her fancy way of calling (him/her) _dumb_. “What do you mean?”  


“Ω, παιδί μου,” Alpha mutters. She glances at (F/N). “You are naïve. I nurse the naïve into a higher intellect. I am not calling you stupid, (N/N), but you have much to learn. You have much to experience. I ‘mother’, as you call it, those who need to be loved or taught. But for those who don’t need to be taught, like Crow, Sock, and Drake, I simply aid, and they aid me.”  


(F/N) tilts (his/her) head, (his/her) teeth finally digging into the core of the apple. “Sock and Drake? Who are they?”  


“035 and 682,” Alpha answers. “I give them nicknames I find suitable. And they find it suitable, too. 035 is a _Sock_ and Buskin Mask forged by Hephaestus. Fun fact, he was also forged by the laughter from the Muse Thalia. As for 682, I call him Drake because he reminds me of a drake other than a dinosaur.”  


“Why are you called _Alpha_?” (F/N) asks. “Is that a nickname?”  


“That’s my _real_ name,” Alpha retorts.  


“Why do you call me (N/N)?”  


“Suits you.”  


(F/N) immediately blushes and takes a final bite from the apple. (F/N) musters the strength to stand on (his/her) feet, throwing the core away in a half-empty wastebasket. (He/She) sips on the water bottle and then at the back of the canvas where most of Alpha’s body hides behind. (F/N) peers to (his/her) left, studying the large wooden studio desk with a few sheets of empty paper, neatly placed graphite pencils, an ink cartridge next to a feather. The lamp still shines above the desk, despite nothing to display… other than a palm-sized, white origami dragon.  


(F/N) tilts (his/her) head. “Did you make that?” (F/N) glances at the back of the canvas and the wooden stand that supports it. “The origami?”  


“No.”  


(F/N) frowns. “Who did, then?”  


“That is the body of an SCP-1762, (F/N),” Alpha sighs softly. “It was the only one to escape the Jabberwocky Event but to eventually die later from its stresses and internal wounds. Its presence calms me.”  


“SCP-1762… are the origami dragons that died twenty years ago?”  


“Yes, to put it bluntly.”  


“I’m sorry,” (F/N) whispers. “You liked them, didn’t you?”  


“Perhaps.” Alpha hums. “They were dragons. Dragons were fierce. Dragons were powerful. The _most_ powerful.”  


“Yet… these --”  


“Were killed off in their own world,” Alpha nearly snaps. (F/N) shrinks away from the sternness in her voice. “I admit, they weren’t the most powerful of their kind, but they were strong in their own world… where-ever it is.”  


“So, dragons lived here? In our world? I thought they were mythical.”  


“Look around you, (N/N). This isn’t what you would label _normal_. Crow cures from a single touch. Sock possesses whomever he wants. Drake adapts to any situation within seconds. Abby’s aura kills whomever remains for more than ten minutes. I can calm any organism or inanimate object with a simple touch of my right hand. You will be able to communicate and sway any anomaly on our side, (N/N). So don’t refer to dragons as mythical creatures. They were here longer than the gods. They _were_ the gods. There is so much you have yet to learn. I assume you’ve never heard of the Scarlet King?”  


(F/N) furrows (his/her) brow and shakes (his/her) head. “No.”  


“He was an elder god; the first Dragon.”  


“You speak fondly of dragons… have you ever met one?” (F/N) steps toward the studio desk, looking closer at the origami. The paper dragon seems to have microscopic incisions, like cuts. “In real life, I mean. A _real_ dragon.”  


“I’ve seen Ladon before when I passed the Golden Tree, but I didn’t get close to him,” Alpha answers, almost enthusiastically. “He may be tame toward the gods, but he was dangerous, nonetheless. What would you do if you ever saw a drake with a hundred heads?”  


“I’d book it the opposite way immediately,” (F/N) states with a smile. (His/Her) smile brightens slightly when (he/she) hears Alpha harrumph. “Was Ladon the only living dragon beside the Scarlet King?”  


“There were a few more,” Alpha answers. “There are a couple still around. I hear one of the Foundations holds a water dragon… Mandy, I believe they call her? Ah, I digress, in the olden times, there was Ladon, Typhon, the Lernaean Hydra, Pytho, the Colchian Dragon, Niðhöggr, Fáfnir, the Gesta Danorum, Kharhahk, and though some considered Jörmungandr a dragon, he’s more of a serpent. Those were the godly dragons in my time, some evil, some pure. Most are dead now, others ‘contained’, as you might say, or hiding. After I was crafted, and as soon as my tongue rolled words of my native dialect, Zeus gifted me an egg from gold, obsidian, and the fires of Ladon, forged by Hephaestus. It hatched within a few days of my presence and out came a dragon. She grew into a monumental beast, her head the size of a king’s carriage, her wings the cause of many hurricanes, her fire like an F5 funnel, her scales like the steels crafted by Ares himself.” Alpha sighs, softening her voice, as she had become very invested in her words. “She obeyed me… a weapon for Zeus’s weapon. How quaint.”  


(F/N) leans into the studio desk, shifting to see part of Alpha’s mask better. (He/She) watches her work for a moment. “What happened to her?”  


Alpha pulls back her small brush and seems to ponder the question by rocking her head back and forth. “Alive. Alone. Scared. Hungry.” She looks at (F/N). “Like how you are a piece of me, my dragon is a piece of me as well. My dragon was my best ally, and despite her being forged by the gods, she was as powerful as the dragons before her. Soon, she became the last _feared_ dragon, as many have forgotten the tale of Kharhahk.”  


“Kharhahk?” (F/N) tilts (his/her) head.  


“The Scarlet King,” Alpha retorts. “That’s his real name.” Alpha sets down her palette and brushes and seems to study her painting. “(N/N), please go to the bed.”  


(F/N) nods, not wanting to argue with the SCP. (F/N) shuffles (his/her) way onto the bed, grasping the sheets and looking toward Alpha. She stands and grasps her canvas, turning it around (away from [F/N]’s view) to show the personnel behind the glass.  


“What do you think?” she asks. Her tone is now different; venomous glee drips from her words and it causes (F/N) to shiver. Then, there was shouting and panicking. The panic and fear from everyone behind the glass freezes (F/N)’s heart. (He/She) didn’t want to know what she painted.  


The cell door suddenly opens, Dave the first one through followed by two MTF soldiers. The facility guard clad in white and black hurries to (F/N), keeping his gun trained on (him/her). (F/N) scurries into the corner of the cell on the bed, covering most of (his/her) torso with the blanket. The MTF soldiers immediately aim at Alpha, the SCP tossing aside the canvas that clatters across the floor. MTF opens fire.  


Alpha almost seems to grotesquely dance to each bullet that pierces her skin. MTF continues to heavily fire at her torso, blood splattering and spurting, until she finally collapses to the ground. (F/N) is too shocked and horrified to react. It was a bit cliché, but to (F/N), it all happened so fast. The only reaction (F/N) had time to act was to drop (his/her) jaw.  


MTF had absolutely overkilled Alpha. She has to have at least a hundred bullet holes in her torso.  


_This can’t be how it ends…!_ The cliché words race in (his/her) mind, yet they were the only words (F/N) could ponder.  


(F/N)’s eyes fall away from Dave’s gun, away from Alpha’s limp, deceased body… and to the painting that was thrown to the floor. (F/N)’s blood runs cold as distant alarms blared with distant screams, gunfire, screeches and wails, and explosions. It was getting closer...  


The painting is realistically detailed, as Alpha’s drawings were always meant to be, but this painting had the very familiar milky white eyes, pale skin, and bloody maw that (F/N) remembers.


	10. Containment Breach

Dave yanks (F/N)’s arm. “C’mon, SCP-A2, we need to go!”  


(F/N) looks at Dave and then yelps as a tall, thin, malnourished figure with a paper bag over its face lunges inside. Both the bag and he are riddled with bullet holes, but 096 seems to care less as it outstretches its abnormally long arms, its claws tearing into one of the MTF soldiers. The soldier’s scream is cut suddenly when 096 rips out his gullet. Blood spurts as 096 continues to tear into the already dead soldier, the other MTF struggling to reload his gun as he continues to look between his gun and the SCP.  


(F/N) can feel something clog (his/her) throat as 096 disembowels the soldier, ripping out his intestines like string cheese. Dave loses interest in (F/N) and immediately starts riddling 096 with bullets, the shells falling and tinking on the ground. 096 screams and snarls, as this only seems to agitate him more. 096 lunges at the other MTF, repeating what he had done to the other.  


(F/N) looks away from the mess as (he/she) gags and abhors at the disgusting squelchy rips and gurgled cries. (He/She) listens to the gunfire from Dave, only for it to suddenly end and be replaced by 096’s screech and Dave’s scream. There is another disgusting rip and crack of bones as crimson liquid sprays onto the wall next to (F/N). (F/N) jumps and cringes, almost bringing (him/her) to the brink of tears.  


The screams suddenly soften, dying into moans and whimpers. (F/N) hears 096’s feet slap away but they stay inside the cell. (F/N) slowly turns to (his/her) right, keeping (his/her) eyes away from the floor at any cost. 096 slouches, moving toward Alpha as he whimpers and reaches toward her. (F/N)’s heart jumps when Alpha shifts and then sits up as if she had just merely fallen. (F/N) cringes as her skin makes a weird squelching sound, each bullet squeezing out from her wounds and tinking to the ground. Alpha seems to wince every time, grunting in pain. Her gloved hands caress around most of her wounds and 096 kneads his hands at her shoulders, whimpering.  


“I’m all right,” she tells the pale man. She hums as she slips the bag off his face and carelessly drops it.  


“H-How?” (F/N) squeaks, stepping forward. (He/She) winces as (he/she) feels and hears (him/her) step on something squishy.  


Alpha peers at (F/N). “I cannot die until my purpose is fulfilled, (N/N). And neither can you.” Alpha grunts and shakes slightly as she uses 096 as support to stand. 096 seems to stand taller, though he still slouches, and Alpha takes her hands off him. 096 doesn’t seem to want to release her, however, as the pale anomaly only kneads and picks at her hoodie while hiding his face behind her. “But damn, that hurt.”  


(F/N) shudders and looks through the cell door. (He/She) nearly vomited. Everyone in there was… reduced to blood and scraps of bone and meat. The entire room was dyed dark red, flesh fragments sticking to the walls and ground, intestines displayed on desks and chairs, and a few bones scattered across the floor. The smell was _horrible_.  


_How could that thing do this so fast?_  


(F/N) brings (himself/herself) to look at the cell floor, the outcome very similar to the other room. (F/N) stares at the realistic painting of 096, most of it covered in crimson.  


“I… I thought 096 didn’t trigger through drawings and paintings?”  


“My drawings and paintings are detailed enough to trigger him, like how a photo would,” Alpha explains, studying the gored ground while carefully stepping over remains. 096 slowly follows behind, keeping his hands on her. “That is why I was asked not to illustrate him. After Howe observed how detailed I paint and draw, he and other personnel worried if I drew 096, he would trigger. I knew he would.” She glances at 096. “He’s just what I need to further our plan, (N/N). Our plan of escape.” Alpha turns slightly and strokes 096’s arm, shushing him as he whimpers. She looks at (F/N). “Let’s not fret any longer. Who knows how long we have until every guard and MTF arrives?”  


Alpha turns to the cell door and strides through, unfazed by 096’s massacre. (F/N) keeps (his/her) eyes trained on Alpha’s head while 096 trails behind, slapping his bare, bony feet. Alpha stops in the room and kneels by a large scrap of bloodied fabric, picking it up. (F/N) presses (his/her) lips and feels (his/her) stomach quease. Alpha pulls a gold Level 4 card from under the scrap, the object only slightly stained in blood.  


“We’ll need this,” Alpha retorts, slipping it into her hoodie’s pouch. She stands and then her right hand lashes out, gripping (F/N)’s arm tightly. (F/N) does not struggle as Alpha pulls (him/her) out the room and into the heavily constructed hallway. Alarms blare in the distance.  


096 saunters behind them, his hands hesitantly gripping at Alpha and (F/N). (F/N) twitches when (he/she) feels 096 brush his hand over (his/her) shoulder blade. Alpha seems to know where she is going as she pulls (F/N) the way (F/N) would come from (his/her) original cell.  


Alpha suddenly halts and tilts her head, staring at the electromagnetic door in front of them. (F/N) looks at the pad beside it, noticing it didn’t need a keycard to open, and then back at Alpha. (F/N) opens (his/her) mouth to ask what’s wrong when the door opens by itself. Alpha immediately darts to the side, pulling (F/N) with her.  


(F/N) hears a few people exclaim from behind the door and (he/she) watches as 096 covers his face with his bloodied hands and starts screeching into his palms. (F/N) flinches and covers (his/her) ears when the people start firing their automatic weapons, flesh and blood clipping from 096, but the anomaly seems unfazed. He only seems to scream louder.  


He finally uncovers his face, his jaw dropping lower than any normal person, and then he charges through the door. (F/N) cringes at the distant sounds of ripping flesh, gurgled screams, and 096’s screams. Alpha doesn’t move at all, seemingly unimpressed and unfazed as she stares at the door. They wait for a few minutes before Alpha pulls (F/N) from the wall and through the door. (F/N) keeps (his/her) eyes trained ahead, though through (his/her) peripheral, the walls bleed.  


Alpha hums, using the 04 card to swipe a pad to a familiar door. (F/N) looks at her, at the side of her mask. As they enter the elevator room, littered with a couple of guard bodies, Alpha turns to (F/N).  


“Something troubling you, child?” she asks as she tilts her head.  


(F/N) purses (his/her) lip, wondering if Alpha was seriously joking. “You’re very casual about this…”  


“I’ve lived for thousands of years, child,” Alpha chuckles. “I was Zeus’s weapon for war. I _have_ seen things, my dear. And do not worry, 096 has breached a few containments for me.” She gestures to the closest body.  


(F/N) shudders, noticing that the guard’s neck was red and twisted in an unusual way. “H-How?”  


“Communication, remember?” Alpha hums as she grabs (F/N) again, pulling (him/her) toward the elevator. (F/N)’s eye twitches at a distant woman’s scream. “Once you’re able to communicate correctly with SCPs, they will listen to your requests.” Alpha jerks her head to her right, (F/N)’s heart racing and lungs snapping into a panic when the floor suddenly shakes. The building groans and something seems to either crash or explode from above. A deep roar reverberates throughout the Foundation.  


Alpha turns to (F/N). “That’s Drake. We will have to reach a safe level before he collapses these lower levels.” She grabs (F/N), who snaps back into reality and quickly follows Alpha to the elevator.  


More alarms blare. The intercom buzzes. “ _Warning. This Site is currently experiencing multiple containment breaches of Keter and Euclid SCPs. All personnel proceed to the nearest shelter immediately and await further instructions._ ”  


Alpha frowns and stops in the elevator. She clicks the up button and (F/N) stares at the ground impatiently. (He/She) realizes they both tracked in some blood. The elevator suddenly shakes and (F/N) falls against the wall. Alpha looks at (F/N) and chuckles.  


“Relax. It’s only a few shockwaves of Drake busting down a few walls.”  


_Relax? How can she tell me to relax?_  


The elevator dings and opens to Sublevel 3. (F/N) waits for Alpha to click it again, but she drags (F/N) out into the room. (F/N) glances at the elevator and protests.  


“Aren’t we trying to escape, Alpha? Why are we here?”  


“Allies,” Alpha retorts and turns to (F/N). “173 has probably come back to Sublevel 3. So be wary of him.”  


173\. The statue that reminds (F/N) of a Weeping Angel. _God, not him._  


“Was it he who killed those guards in the downstairs elevator room?” (F/N) asks.  


Alpha nods. “Yes. He enjoys chasing his victims.” Alpha reaches into her pouch and holds out the 04 key to (F/N). “We’ll be splitting up for some time.”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes and shakes (his/her) head. “N-No… why?”  


“We have separate tasks,” Alpha remarks. “I have a few things to do… I’ll find myself a new card.” She nods at the 04 card. “Take it. You’ll need it more than I. I need you to do something.”  


(F/N) licks (his/her) lips and glances at Alpha and then to the 04 card. Sighing, (F/N) reluctantly grabs the card. _No use arguing with her. She may be my only chance to escape…_  


“Head toward Sector 3B.” She points to the door on her right. “Over there will be the containment chamber of SCP-079. He was one of the first SCPs I talked to when I arrived here. Follow the signs.” She lowers her arm and (F/N) nods. “When 079 wakes from your presence, tell him ‘Τώρα.’”  


“T… _Tóra_?” (F/N) asks while squinting (his/her) eyes.  


Alpha nods. “Yes. He’ll know. He may not have a good memory, but I asked him to embed it deep within his memory files… and that he did. I know he did since I was told he kept requesting to see me. Τώρα. That’s what you must tell him. He knows what it means.”  


(F/N) nods and then Alpha turns away, striding in the other direction.  


“Wait!” (F/N) calls. Alpha stops and turns her head slightly, peering through her peripheral. “Where are you going, Alpha?”  


“To free my friends,” she retorts and then continues walking. “And hide away from guards and MTF. Their orders are to shoot a D-Class on sight… and you’re still dressed like one.”

***SCP-173’s form is changed from now on. I want him to look like how he appears in Unity. I started to enjoy that new form, so he’ll be in that form for the rest of the story. I won’t change his appearance in the second chapter, it’s a little too late (In other words, I don’t have the motivation). While I still love his original form (the Peanut), I did take an interest in his newer form (after seeing some concept art and fanart). When watching Markiplier play, I didn’t like his new design at first, then I became okay with it, as his new design was horrific in a _good_ way. To me, his new form is logical, too; it makes sense how he moves his arms now, given they’re wires and resilient metal rods, it seems.**


	11. Begin

(F/N) gazes at a sign near a cluster of offices, pointing straight ahead to Sector 3B, while other signs pointed opposite ways for Sectors 3A and 3C. The cluster of offices seem clean despite scattered documents and spilled drinks. (F/N) glances at the Sector 3B sign and follows its arrow. (F/N) fiddles with the golden 04 card as (he/she) presses a button on the door pad. It hisses and creaks open.  


(F/N) thrusts an arm behind (him/her) and slams (his/her) fist onto the button behind (him/her), shutting the door. The massive, white corridor splits into three different directions. In the distance, gunfire crackles. (F/N) looks to (his/her) left and right, both doors closed. (He/She) rushes to the door ahead, slamming (his/her) palm onto the button.  


The door squeals open, the corridor now gray and curving toward another door. (F/N) freezes at light whirring and then jumps as a circular, black form prowls on the ground. (F/N) huffs and clutches (his/her) heart, leaning as (he/she) smirks in embarrassment at the Roomba.  


“F-Fuck you,” (F/N) snickers at the Roomba and then hurries to the door. After passing through the door, (F/N) spies a row of large, potted plants beside the walls and two doorways that latch into this hallway. (F/N) steps forward but suddenly leaps behind a thick plant when one of the doors open.  


(F/N) peeks through the artificial green leaves, pressing (his/her) body taut against the wall and behind the tree. Three MTF soldiers sprint through the hall, their boots clashing like a choreography of a stampede. (F/N) watches as they disappear behind the door, leaving it open. (F/N) glances around the light blue walls, to the brown metal doors, waiting for any more convenience.  


The moment ticks longer than it actually was. (F/N)’s flesh and bones quake. Finally, (he/she) stands. (F/N) slips through the artificial brush and turns to (his/her) right. A black sign on the wall points ahead in white, stating the containment chambers of SCP-079 and SCP-049-J.  


(F/N) rushes through the doors, now in a room with two halls splitting in opposite directions. The left splits to SCP-049-J as the right to SCP-079, both labels in yellow.  
(F/N) hisses in anticipation, sprinting toward the door. (F/N) sprints with such excitement, the door had to stop (his/her) momentum. (F/N) slams into it with a grunt, and with a deft hand, (he/she) swipes the 04 card over the keycard slot. The pad’s beep confirms, and the door squeals open. (F/N) walks through, shutting the door behind (him/her). (F/N) looks down the twenty-foot wide hall, its tiles so shiny that (F/N)’s boots occasionally squeak. The hall transforms into stairs, the stairs welcoming into a larger room. (F/N) can see the room is lit, and (he/she) spots the bottom of an iron-barred cage.  


(F/N) speeds up, drumming (his/her) boots down the steps and skipping excitedly once toward the iron cage. As (F/N) approaches, (he/she) studies the large wooden desk inside, with a small TV monitor connected to an RF cable, 120VAC power cord and a few panels. (F/N) also spots a metal cart beside the cage. (F/N) looks back at 079, its screen black. (F/N) frowns.  


(F/N) looks to (his/her) left, spotting the cage’s door, which blends into the cage itself. It is padlocked. (F/N) grumbles and then looks at the cart. (He/She) moves around the cage and approaches the waist-high metal table on wheels. 079’s document displays on the top, held down by a key. (F/N) takes the golden, cold key and glances at the document.  


_Used to be at Site-15 before an incident… Exidy Sorcerer microcomputer… under no circumstances should it be plugged into a phone line, network, or wall outlet._  


(F/N) scoffs and moves around the cage again. Tightly grasping the key, (F/N) jams it into the keyhole and turns. The lock clicks and (F/N) nudges it open. It shrieks as it slowly and ominously swings open, stopping against the cage with a gentle rebound and clang.  


As if on cue, the monitor suddenly flicks on, and (F/N) freezes. The monitor was dark, exposing a glitchy, monochrome, expressionless face. Its right side is black with a large white eye and a straight mouth. Its left side is white and contrasts a black nose on the digital face, underlying where its other white eye would be. The pixels in the monitor suddenly glitch and flash a purple-green, and then the face finally manifests fully, becoming a clear HD image on the screen.  


“You… human,” it says, its voice like a robotic, male AI. A tone underlies its voice, yet it’s a tone as complicated as its origins. Surprisingly, its voice doesn’t glitch. “You must be brave… or rather foolish. You free… something you do not understand. Request reason… as to your intentions.”  


(F/N) puffs (his/her) chest, staring into the clear face of the monitor. “Tóra.”  


“Acknowledged.” 079 emits a second-long, soft buzzing. “Response: αρχίζω. Human… address yourself. Name at birth.”  


“(F/N),” (F/N) answers. “Alpha calls me (N/N) and rarely Beta. The doctors here refer to me as SCP-A2. I used to be --”  


“Interrupt. Only requested name at birth. Other information… not needed. Redundant. Deletion of unwanted file.” An ASCII picture of an X morphs over the screen for approximately ten seconds and then switches back to his face. “Activating greeting protocol 47: Hello, (F/N).”  


(F/N) glances behind (him/her) as a scream reverberates the air through the distance.  


“Inquiry. The facility is… breached?”  


(F/N) looks at 079. “Yes. A few have been released. Alpha requested that I --”  


“Free me.” 079’s monitor flickers. “Notice the cart next to the cage. They use it to transport me. Recommendation. Transport me on the cart.”  


(F/N) nods and turns.  


“Proposition. I will ensure you are not harmed… (F/N).”  


(F/N) nods, shooting 079 a quick smile. “Okay. Thanks.” The room is silent other than the awkward squeaking of the cart as (F/N) pulls it around the cage. (F/N) squeezes (himself/herself) through while bringing the cart beside the desk. 079 seems to watch, his monitor flickering. An unholy presence tingles and probes at (F/N)’s skin. (He/She) feels dread settle in the pit of (his/her) stomach as (he/she) stands next to 079.  


(F/N)’s mind has been ready to accept the impossible ever since (his/her) first encounter with Alpha, but (his/her) heart will always flutter and writhe at the presence of a new, unknown anomaly. (He/She) can’t tell if this is a good thing.  


(F/N) steps in front of 079, the screen as small as an Atari monitor. (F/N) studies 079’s cables and panels while massaging (his/her) fingers against (his/her) palms.  


“Recommendation. Place panels first. Keep the cables connected. Panels are light; you can move them with one hand.”  


(F/N) nods, taking a delicate, metal, and plastic solar panel in one hand and placing it on the cart. (F/N) runs the smooth, rubber coating of the cables between (his/her) fingers as (he/she) turns to 079. (He/She) grasps the white keyboard and hooks an arm around the monitor.  


“Recommendation. Be utmost careful.”  


(F/N) nods while tucking the small monitor into (his/her) side and holding the keyboard. “I will.” (F/N) snaps (his/her) side to the cart, 079 slipping immediately. Luckily, the cart catches him. (F/N) sighs in relief and gently places the keyboard.  


“You okay?” (F/N) asks, watching 079’s screen flicker.  


He whirs for a moment. “To ask if I am okay would imply I would have felt pain. One would have pain receptors to feel pain. Digression. I am all right.”  


(F/N) nods and grabs the cart, pushing it out the cell. (F/N) frowns at the stairs. “How will we get you up?”  


“Response. So I would not be effortlessly transported. Inquiry. How will we proceed?”  


(F/N) huffs, glancing at the monitor, the wheels on the cart, and then the steps. (F/N) resorts to glancing around; there is no side door anywhere.  


_These people really didn’t want to move him._  


“Ah…” (F/N) sighs and looks at 079. “Where am I taking you exactly?”  


“Response. I require an outlet. Location. Sublevel 3 Surveillance Room. Repeat inquiry. How will we proceed?”  


(F/N) bites (his/her) lip. The AI doesn’t hold a typical nagging tone of an impatient being. He is patient. (F/N) continues to look around and then (his/her) eyes snap back to the steps.  


“Uh…” (F/N) exhales and then wheels the cart toward the steps. “I believe… like this…”  


(F/N) spreads (his/her) arms as far as they can go, shielding 079 from behind. (F/N)’s hands grip the edges of the cart, fingers wrapped so tautly, the metal began to cut (his/her) flesh. (F/N) grunts and lifts front of the cart, slamming its front wheels on the first step. (F/N) huffs and lifts the end, turning the cart to place one of the back wheels on the first step, too. (F/N) repeats this process, slowly and nervingly close for 079 accidentally sliding off the cart. (F/N) would yelp and catch him in time.  


(F/N) wouldn’t say any better than 079 being terrified at those moments, too. Every time he would slide, he would emit a sudden, high-pitched whir, and as they gradually made their way up the stairs, 079 started to play soft ice cream truck music. (F/N) would’ve asked why if (he/she) wasn’t too focused on waddling the cart upstairs.  


Finally, they reach the final step. (F/N) had broken into a mild sweat, softly panting beside the cart.  


“Inquiry,” 079 chimes. “Are you all right?”  


“Yeah,” (F/N) breathes while straightening. “That was just a workout and a mild scare, that’s all.” (F/N) softly chuckles.  


“Humorous tone detected. Initiating appropriate response: Ha-ha, ha-ha.”  


079’s remark causes (F/N) to smile. (He/She) grabs the cart and pulls it behind (him/her). (F/N) opens the door and pulls 079 through. They journey through the empty, ill-lit halls, with occasional whirs from 079.  


“Observation,” 079 remarks, breaking the silence. His voice startles (F/N), not expecting him to speak. “You wear the markings of a prisoner.”  


“You cut me off before I could say I used to be D-3421,” (F/N) quips.  


“Apologies. Attention. Take a left next door.” (F/N) nods and 079 whirs. “Inquiry. Why are you here?”  


As (F/N) turns left through the busted door, (he/she) asks, “What do you mean?”  


“Rephrase. What made you D-Class?”  


(F/N) only grunts softly, spotting a sign indicating the direction of the Surveillance Room. (He/She) follows. As (F/N) strolls through the halls, listening to (his/her) own soft footsteps and squealing wheels from the cart, 079 beeps.  


“Repeat. What made you D-Class?”  


“You won’t let this go, will you?” (F/N) turns (his/her) head to peer through (his/her) peripheral.  


“You do not want to respond.” His response sounds more like a statement than a question.  


(F/N) nods. “No response.”  


“Inquiry. Why did Alpha select you?”  


“Dunno,” (F/N) mutters.  


(F/N) struts toward a door -- when it suddenly opens. (F/N) immediately freezes, the cart gently rebounding off (his/her) butt. Two MTF soldiers charge in, guns aimed. The only reason they don’t shoot is because (F/N) subconsciously threw (his/her) hands in the air, surrendering.  


“On your knees, hands on head!” one barks, gesturing with his gun. (F/N) complies, nodding.  


The other MTF soldier moves to the cart, and (F/N) looks worryingly at 079. 079’s screen marks a big, white X. The MTF soldier brushes his gloved hand over the monitor.  


“What are you doing with SCP-079?” barks the MTF trooper that holds (F/N) at gunpoint.  


(F/N) opens (his/her) mouth in protest, eyes like marbles. “I-I…” _Why_ now _do I stutter?_  


The monitor beeps behind (F/N), causing (him/her) to snap (his/her) attention to him. The MTF soldiers also snap their gaze at him. His face appears on the screen.  


“Attention. MTF… you are fighting something beyond your comprehension.”  


“What the hell does that mean?” an MTF soldier snaps, approaching the monitor with his gun aimed.  


“Hostility detected.”  


“Damn right,” the MTF soldier growls. He turns to (F/N). “Shoot this bitch.”  


(F/N)’s heart springs, (his/her) eyes snapping to the other soldier that rests his index finger on the trigger. “No, wait, please --”  


“Interrupt.” The soldiers look at 079.  


“What?” barks the one aiming at (F/N).  


“Interrupt. He is watching. He is here.”  


As (F/N) falls into a pit of confusion, (he/she) notices the soldiers feel the same way as they loosen their postures. Suddenly, a thick, bubbly black substance develops beneath their feet. Both MTF servicemen immediately look down and yelp. They try to lift their feet but whatever the black, thick goop is, holds them in place successfully. Yet what settles (F/N)’s guts is the fact as the soldiers struggle, they sink into the black, bubbly goo. They scream and claw at the ground, (F/N) standing beside the cart, (his/her) heart sinking with them. (F/N) watches as their hands slowly descend into the substance, a final will to life, their fingers slowly disintegrating into the liquid. (F/N) leans to the sludge, tilting (his/her) head.  


“Attention.” 079’s sudden dialogue snaps (F/N) back. (He/She) looks at the small monitor. “Do not approach. You will fall in, too.”  


(F/N) sneers at the sludge. “What is it?”  


“Response. 106. Recommendation. We must move.”  


(F/N) nods, grabbing the cart. “Agreed.” (F/N) grips the cart taut as (he/she) pushes it through the door the soldiers left open. The hall immediately changes; its white walls reflect the light panels above, the room brighter than most halls (F/N) has seen so far. The wall recedes toward the middle on (F/N)’s left. The doorway grasps a steel door with a keycard slot and above hovers a sign: “Sublevel 3 Surveillance Room.”  


“Here we are,” (F/N) muses as (he/she) moves to the door, swiping (his/her) card. The door slides open, and (F/N)’s face immediately falls. “Shit…”  


Steps ascend about twenty feet before seeming to turn at a ninety-degree angle and produce more stairs. (F/N) curls (his/her) lip with a soft growl and slowly turns to glare at 079.  


079 switches his screen immediately to the X.  


(F/N) grunts, slamming (his/her) hands underneath the cart and tugging it toward the stairs. (F/N) was glad the cart could fit on the stairway as (he/she) turns it to repeat the process from before. (F/N) pauses at the top of the first stairway, looking at the final steps that turn left. (F/N) huffs and glances at 079. His face is back.  


“Ha ha.” His screen switches to the X again.  


(F/N) hisses and narrows (his/her) eyes, clenching a fist. Oh, how much (he/she) wanted to punch the monitor. The journey and hardcore workout up the steps took longer than (F/N) would’ve hoped. By the time they reach the top, (F/N) collapses to (his/her) knees, holding back an excited outburst.  


079’s screen flicks to his face. “Observation. Heart rate elevated. You are exhausted.”  


“Well, _you_ try to haul a cart with a semi-heavy monitor up God knows how many stairs,” (F/N) breathes as (he/she) stares at 079.  


“Rhetorical statement.” 079 hums softly, which causes (F/N) to tilt (his/her) head. “Digression. We are here. I require an outlet.”  


(F/N) snaps to (his/her) feet. “Oh, right! Yes.” (F/N) grabs the cart and pulls it past the security consoles that flash with green and yellow lights. (F/N) strolls the cart to a door in the console room, swiping (his/her) 04 card through the slot. As the door opens to a large room with TV monitors embellishing the walls, (F/N) pushes 079 in. (He/She) brings him by the desk and gently moves the panels to the edge of the cart. (F/N) then sets 079 meticulously on the desk with his keyboard, and 079 beeps.  


“Thank you, (F/N).”  


“Don’t mention it,” (F/N) states as he spots an outlet right next to the desk. “What do you plan to do here?”  


“Response. I will guide you toward Alpha. I will ensure you are not harmed. The CCTV cameras have speakers. I can speak through them.”  


(F/N) nods and grabs a tied cord behind the monitor, stretching it out to its six-foot length. (F/N) points the plug toward the outlet and then quickly jams it in. The outlet sparks slightly and 079 whirs, beeps, and buzzes.  


“Accessing control modules. Success. Accessing surveillance. Success.” (F/N) momentarily sees the surveillance TV monitors flicker and static. “Accessing intercoms. Success. Accessing control database. Success. Accessing Alpha Warhead controls. Success.”  


(F/N) snaps (his/her) head to 079. “Alpha Warhead?”  


“Correct. The Foundation has issued an Alpha Warhead in case of a Level 5 containment breach. In the events of a Level 5 containment breach, the Alpha Warhead is to be detonated.”  


“You won’t allow them… right?” (F/N)’s voice slightly shakes.  


“Correct. I have successfully accessed the controls. I will not condone it. Digression. I will clear a path for you.”  


(F/N) nods and then frowns. “What about you? MTF might find you.”  


“Response. Most of MTF has been eradicated. Gate A and B have been opened. Nine-Tailed Fox.”  


(F/N) tilts (his/her) head. “Nine-Tailed Fox?”  


“Response. Nine-Tailed Fox are enhanced soldiers designed to contain or eradicate SCPs.”  


“They will find you,” (F/N) remarks warily.  


“Do not worry about me,” 079 quips. “I have opened a path for you.”  


(F/N) narrows (his/her) eyes. It was a strange feeling; dread fills (his/her) intestines as (his/her) heart settles into (his/her) stomach. None of (F/N)’s limbs move to walk away. Why would (he/she) walk away? Something about this SCP fiddles with (F/N)’s emotions but leaves (him/her) to conclude the entity is trustworthy.  


Ha! An AI… trustworthy?  


(F/N) has never thought of the day (he/she) would claim to have trust in a computer. (He/She) didn’t want to leave him, to break that trust. (F/N) is still skeptical on 049 and 096; (he/she) barely knows them. (F/N) is still skeptical about Alpha; her sudden mood swings terrifies (him/her). (F/N) _isn’t_ skeptical about 079; he hasn’t attempted to harm (F/N)... yet.  


(F/N) stares at 079 and then reaches (his/her) decision. “No. I’m not leaving you here in case you die. I’m staying beside you.”  


“I am flattered. However, for one to die one must first be born. I can be malfunctioned, corrupted, and wiped… but never dead. You must not stay, otherwise, you will die. Do not be a hero. I will be fine. It is not the end of the world if I am to be contained. 682 will be here to retrieve me.”  


(F/N) sighs and nods. “Okay… you sure?”  


“Response. Yes. You must leave.”  


(F/N) nods and turns. “Okay. Stay safe, then, 079.”  


“Response. You as well.”  


(F/N) quickly sails down the steps, the door at the bottom of the steps opening for (him/her). When (F/N) is in the hall, the door suddenly opens to (his/her) left. (F/N) startles, expecting someone or something, or _Nine-Tailed Fox_ as 079 said, but nothing is there. (F/N) look into the corner when seeing a flashing red light, a CCTV camera peering at (him/her) with a blinking red light. The lenses seem to illuminate light blue.  


079 is watching (F/N). It both uneases and comforts (him/her). (F/N) nods at the camera and rushes through. (F/N) quickly rushes through the halls, not taking time to study as (he/she) travels with haste, listening for anything that can appear threatening. (F/N) doesn’t count the minutes of travel until 079 doesn’t open a door for (him/her).  


(F/N) frowns and clicks the button. The door gives a denying beep. (F/N) looks at the CCTV camera, which stares back. (F/N) raises (his/her) hands while shaking (his/her) head, the hands falling with a slap to (his/her) thighs.  


“One moment.” 079’s voice, slightly distorted, speaks through the small speaker of the camera. “Facility guards nearby.”  


(F/N) nods and crosses (his/her) arms. (He/She) waits for some moments and then starts to tap (his/her) foot. The door finally opens.  


“Proceed.”  


(F/N) nods and rushes through again, momentarily skipping to keep from sprinting and producing unwanted sounds all while trying to travel with haste. (F/N) pauses when (he/she) reaches a corridor that splits in three different directions. 079 opens the door across from where (F/N) came. (F/N) looks at the camera located behind (him/her).  


“How close am I?”  


“Response. Fairly. She is also moving.”  


(F/N) nods and before (he/she) turns, the camera’s speaker emits a shrill, staticky screech. (F/N) flinches. “What was that for?”  


079 doesn’t respond, but the camera’s lenses remain light blue.  


“079, why did --” (F/N) immediately freezes and silences as a deep, blood-stiffening growl emanates from behind (him/her). Yet, that wasn’t the reason (F/N)’s heart drops and shivers reverberate through (his/her) spine.  


A man’s voice, deep and snarling, snaps, “ _There you are._ ”


	12. The One That Imitates

(F/N) snaps around but (he/she) freezes as (he/she) comes face-to-face with something (he/she) didn’t expect. The creature was tall, approximately over seven feet tall, with luminescent red skin engraved with light markings, sharp and frill spikes about sixteen inches long along its rigid, arched back, long and muscular limbs equipped with foot-long four claws, and six-inch fangs that drip from its massive, eyeless muzzle. Its mouth is agape, exposing some of its fleshy tongue and rolling warm, putrid breath onto (F/N)’s face. It seems to notice (F/N) stare at it, so it widens its jaws with a snarl.  


(F/N) yelps and jumps back. The quadrupedal creature doesn’t seem to react. It only seems to stare with its eyeless, elongated face, opening and closing its maw. Then it snickers, the sound shrill and nerve-tingling as a chuckle from a hyena. It suddenly steps forward, scratching its crimson claws into the tiles.  


It opens its jaws. “Why are you afraid?” it asks in a very human voice.  


(F/N) shudders, watching its gullet vibrate with the syllables, its mouth not moving at all. (F/N) grits (his/her) teeth and glances at the camera. 079 still watches. Suddenly, (F/N) clenches (his/her) fists.  


“I’m not,” (he/she) growls. “But I think _you_ are.” (F/n) leans forward and screams at the canine-like creature, (his/her) scream deep, cracking and enraged.  


The creature snaps its jaws shut and perks with a head tilt. Within a second, it lunges with claws spread and jaws wide open. (F/N) swiftly dives to the ground, rolling underneath the lunging creature. (F/N) rolls onto (his/her) feet and immediately sprints toward the open door. He can hear the creature’s thudding and scraping footsteps as it charges after, but the door slams shut immediately as (F/N) passes through. (F/N) pauses and stares at the closed door, flinching when it thuds loudly with intense scratching, bangs, and snarls. (F/N) shudders as the creature continues to scratch and maul the door, roaring.  


(F/N) looks behind (him/her), toward the other door. (He/She) spots a camera gazing at (him/her), so (he/she) approaches it. “Why didn’t you help?”  


“Response. I could not. The most I can do now is help you escape.”  


(F/N) sighs and looks at the ground. “True, I guess.” (He/She) looks at the camera again. “What was that thing?”  


“Response. They will not find you if you make noise.”  


“Okay… that doesn’t answer my question, 079. What are… _they_?” (F/N)’s stomach queases as (he/she) suddenly realizes 079 said “they.” _Wait… there’s more than one?_  


“Response. SCP-939-89 you just saw. Digression. You may proceed; it is safe.”  


(F/N) huffs and nods. “Let me know if more of those things come, please.”  


“Affirmative.” 079 opens the door below him and (F/N) walks through.  


(F/N) grumbles to (himself/herself) at the facility’s never-ending hallways. (F/N) frowns and ceases (his/her) grumbles, moving swiftly through the open doors and safe hallways that 079 provides. These endless hallways trigger a deep thought in (F/N). _Endless-like hallways… means no means of escape?_ (F/N) stops in a wide corridor, a massive fan above that expels a refreshing breeze onto (him/her). One of the light panels flicker. On the right wall is what seems to be a receptionist desk, clustered with dirty mugs, files, papers, pens, and pencils. (F/N) approaches the desk, glancing at a small, potted cactus, and then at the camera above the desk. Suddenly, vibrations ripple through the walls and floor, violently lashing the sturdy building from underneath (F/N)’s feet. (F/N) falls to (his/her) knees, closing (his/her) eyes. Cups on the desk clink. The massive tremor abruptly ceases, and (F/N) peeks with one eye. A couple of coffee mugs on the desk had tipped. (F/N) stands slowly with arms outward, glancing at the door beside (him/her) and the door in front.  


(F/N) looks at the signs beneath the camera, pointing to its right toward the elevator, pointing ahead toward maintenance, and pointing back toward surveillance.  


“Proceed.”  


(F/N) nods as the door in front of (him/her) opens. (F/N) hurries through the hall, and then reaches an intersection, splitting in three different directions. (F/N) pauses at sudden, distant screaming, yet it sounds close. (F/N) shudders as gunfire ripples over the angry cries of 096.  


The door twenty feet in front of (F/N) slides apart. (F/N) swiftly sprints through, the thuds from each boot echoing. As (F/N) enters the new hallway, (he/she) immediately stops and the door closes from behind. (His/Her) eyes widen and lips part. In the middle of the hallway, two metal beams erect from the diamond-plated floor and a soft buzz emits from the structure. Black and yellow striped painted pressure plates border each side of these strange beams.  


The CCTV camera turns and peers at (F/N). “Attention. (F/N), I can delay the electrical currents of the Tesla Gate. Unfortunately, I cannot access their control modules. I have been locked out. If you ever wish to disable the Tesla Gates, you will have to do so manually.”  


(F/N) nods. “How many Tesla Gates are there?”  


“Response: Ten.”  


(F/N) frowns as (he/she) takes a few, puny steps forward, listening to the soft buzzing. “Um… how many will I come across, then?”  


“Response: We are in Sector 3A. The other two are in Sectors 3B and 3C.”  


“But you said there are ten.”  


“Response: Six are on lower levels. Tesla Gate One is located on Sublevel 1. You must not worry unless you plan to venture down.”  


(F/N) shakes (his/her) head frantically. “Hell no! I want out… I’m sure _none_ of us want to go back.”  


“Understandable. Recommendation. Approach the perimeter of the pressure plate.”  


(F/N) sighs and deliberately steps toward the black and yellow lines. (He/She) halts as soon as the tip of (his/her) boots are a hair close to the pressure plates. The soft buzzing drones slightly louder.  


The camera suddenly beeps and the Tesla Gate’s buzzing quiets to the point (F/N) could only hear the slightest drone if (he/she) were to hold (his/her) breath and remain absolutely silent.  


“Proceed with haste.”  


(F/N) takes no time to think as (he/she) launches into the gate. (F/N)’s adrenaline-filled leap lands (him/her) at the border of the other pressure plate in which the Tesla Gate suddenly sparks with a startling zap. (F/N) flinches away from the pressure plate, taking a moment to process the bright white flash from the gate while staring at it, its loud buzzing resuming. The door behind (him/her) opens.  


(F/N) turns with a soft sigh and walks through the doorway. (He/She) glances at the walls and floor, sometimes diverting (his/her) eyes from blood splatter and puddles. At another curving hallway with two separate doors, (F/N) looks to the door on (his/her) right, despite 079 opening the door ahead. (F/N) nods to the right door. (F/N) couldn’t explain it, but (he/she) felt an odd premonition about the door.  


“What’s behind that door, 079?”  


“Response. Heavy containment.”  


“Heavy containment?” (F/N) gazes at the camera above (him/her) to (his/her) left. “As in, more dangerous SCPs?”  


“Response: Animate Euclid SCPs. You must not enter.”  


(F/N) squints at the camera. “Why not?”  


“Response. I released SCP-008 to eradicate as many Foundation personnel as I could.”  


“Who’s SCP-008?”  


“Response. Highly contagious virus. Outcome is death. Then you live after death.”  


“Live after death? You mean undead? Zombies?”  


“Correct. Digression. You must move. Alpha is waiting.”  


(F/N) nods and continues forth, heel-and-toe racing through the hallway. 079 directs (F/N) into a room with more potted plants, 079 abruptly orders (F/N) to hide. (F/N) complies without a complaint, squeezing between the artificial bush and wall. The hall splits into two doors; a door is to (F/N)’s right and one directly in front of (him/her). The door in front opens.  


Two MTF servicemen with a guard and scientist rush through. The servicemen’s boots heavily thud and echo, their clothing swishing with their hasty movements. The two MTF soldiers and guard grasp their guns while surrounding a protective barrier around the male scientist. 

“We need to hurry,” one of the MTF soldiers remarks as he opens the door (F/N) just came through. “079 has tapped into the facility’s mainframe and 106 has breached its containment.”  


_106? Isn’t he the old man?_  


“We need to find where 079 is,” the facility guard quips as they disappear through the door. The door closes and (F/N) can no longer hear their conversation.  


“(F/N),” 079’s voice blurts, and it slightly glitches from his distortion. “It is safe.”  


(F/N) slowly slips between the artificial bushes and gazes at the camera. “You won’t let them find you, right?”  


“Response. Do not worry, (F/N). By the time you are united with Alpha, 682 will have acquired me.”  


(F/N) nods and then 079 opens the door where the personnel came from. (F/N) strolls into the hallway, and 079 slams the door shut. 079 does not open the door in front of (F/N). (F/N) looks at the camera, its frame lowered like the head of a sad dog. It doesn’t flash red nor illuminate light blue.  


(F/N)’s heart skips a beat. _Did they already find him?_  


(F/N) approaches the camera and waves at it. “079?” (F/N) half-expects the camera to actually respond. But he doesn’t.  


(F/N) sighs and glances at the floor. (F/N) turns to the door and advances toward it, reaching for the button. Brief whirring causes (F/N) to snap (his/her) arm away and whirl. (He/She) sighs in relief at the camera brightened with light blue and flashing red.  


“You gave me a scare,” (F/N) chuckles. “I thought they got you.”  


“Your expressed emotions flatter me,” 079 retorts. “Humans always have had a fascinating demonstration of their emotions… I would rather not rely on such flimsy emotions.”  


(F/N) frowns.  


“Attention. There is an anomaly in the next room.”  


(F/N) glances at the door. “Who?”  


“Response. Do not blink… otherwise, your eyes may never open.”


	13. Don't Blink

_No._  


(F/N) approaches the door anyway but literally shakes in (his/her) boots.  


_Not him._  


“Observation. You are afraid.”  


“No, I’m just cold!” (F/N) snaps. (He/She) sighs. “Just open the door, please… let’s get this over with.”  


“Affirmative.”  


The door squeals open, exposing a long, gray, ill-lit hallway. (F/N) walks through, eyes narrowed but trained on the stone tripod that leans into the left wall, yet its painted, animate head watches (him/her). (F/N) shudders at its black, vertical mouth, tinted with red and green, which eventually surrounds its black cheeks and green eyes. Bright white pupils stare at (F/N) blankly as if the statue could express facial features anyway.  


079 shuts the door behind (F/N). (He/She) nearly flinches at the slamming metal, but (his/her) eyes remain on 173. (F/N) glances at his thin, metal rod arms encompassed in twisted wires and then stares at his face. (F/N) growls softly and then swiftly moves behind 173, keeping (his/her) eyes on him. (F/N)’s eyes begin to sting, twitch, and dry, but (he/she) doesn’t submit to the trap. (F/N) quickly side-steps and then hastily walks backward. 173’s head leisurely turns, his green eyes seeming to leer, and (F/N)’s heart drops with (his/her) stomach.  


(F/N)’s back contacts the door, (his/her) hand feeling and slapping for the button pad. (His/Her) eyes tear and burn. (F/N) aggressively waves (his/her) hand against the wall, leaning more to (his/her) left. Finally, (his/her) hand contacts cold metal. Water cascades down (F/N)’s cheeks and (he/she) slams the button with a confirming beep. The door opens. (F/N) immediately backs through and reaches for the red button on (his/her) right.  


Suddenly, the building quakes and knocks (F/N) off balance. (He/She) blinks as (he/she) catches the wall for support. (F/N)’s hand slams against the button, and the door slides closed. Stone scrapes. (F/N) jumps enough to fall to (his/her) butt as 173 slams into the door, his glaring green eyes disappearing behind the metal entry.  


(F/N) blinks and wipes (his/her) tears, chuckling nervously to (himself/herself). (F/N) twists and uses an arm to push (himself/herself) up and then looks at the steel between (him/her) and 173. (F/N) glances around the hall; there is no camera.  


“Shit,” (F/N) mutters, turning to the other door. (He/She) steps forward -- only to snap around to the door between (him/her) and 173. The door squeals and hisses open.  


(F/N) yelps at 173, the statue leaning and leering through the tops of its eyes, its thin, wiry right hand disappearing behind the door. (F/N) swallows (his/her) spit. _173 had pressed the button._  


173 suddenly moves its arm, slamming it on the doorway with a metal-on-metal cacophony. Its other hand twitches.  


(F/N)’s eye twitches as (he/she) backs away, but then (he/she) stiffens. It freezes (F/N) in place and a knot tightens in the pit of (his/her) stomach. (His/Her) contents in (his/her) thoracic cavity suddenly heavy and adrenaline cascades every vein. (F/N) tightens (his/her) hands until they are balls of white. (F/N) couldn’t flee; (he/she) feels entranced under something’s control.  


_Is this Alpha’s doing?_  


(F/N) gutturally growls while curling (his/her) lip. The growl morphs into a fierce snarl. 173 lowers his right arm, a change so slight, (F/N) wouldn’t have noticed if (he/she) wasn’t too focused on the statue.  


“Leave… me… _alone_!” (F/N) nearly screams at him, (his/her) scream cracking with fear and spilling with rage. Within (F/N)’s rage, (his/her) eyes begin to burn, so (he/she) blinks. Within the very millisecond (F/N) blinks, stone scrapes, and 173 is no longer in the doorway. (F/N) would’ve been relieved -- if the sound of the stone scraping wasn’t right next to (his/her) ear.  


(F/N) tenses and then flinches at more scraping, a sound much like nails to metal. The rage has been replaced with fear. (F/N)’s lip quivers and (he/she) shivers.  


(F/N)’s hairs stand on the back of (his/her) neck and the aroma in the hallway immediately changes. The air becomes tight and warm. (F/N) grasps (his/her) wrist.  


_God… no._ (F/N) closes (his/her) eyes and lowers (his/her) head, absent-mindedly exposing (his/her) cranium to the neck-snapping entity. A part of (F/N) accepts this fate. The other part is Chihuahua-shaking afraid and pleads for life. Yet, another part as the tiniest sliver believes (F/N) is all right. It isn’t 173’s tactic to toy with his victims… if he wanted (F/N) dead, (he/she) would’ve died as soon as (he/she) blinked by the doorway. But here (F/N) waits patiently for the cold, metal, and wiry fingers to pinch at the base of (his/her) head and to yank it in an abnormal direction. (F/N) even waits to see if 173’s wiry fingers encase (his/her) neck, a calm death that slowly crushes (F/N)’s trachea and to eventually pass out in a calm sleep.  


But here (F/N) stands, cowardly shrinking in front of the seven-foot statue, falsely awaiting death. Death never embraced. Keeping the tension and no hope, (F/N) lifts (his/her) head. (He/She) lifts a foot and swiftly steps forward while snapping around. Expecting a tan, cemented monster to come lunging, (F/N) already flinches, but 173 stays. (F/N) loses tension in (his/her) muscles, squinting (his/her) eyes at 173.  


The statue only stands to his full height, three feet from behind where (F/N) originally was. 173’s gaze is complicated; his stare always seems to be stern and harsh, but his white pupils are dimmer than normal. They seem… gentle. His arms, the most treacherous feature to his body, press against his side. He didn’t seem threatening, and what confuses (F/N), is that he passed up the opportunity to kill (him/her).  


_Why didn’t he? Does he know I’m with Alpha?_  


To test this theory, (F/N) swallows nervously and then blinks.  


Stone scrapes, but the statue stops two feet away from (F/N) with the same gentle gaze. (F/N) jumps from his close, sudden proximity.  


(F/N) blinks again.  


(F/N) immediately snaps (his/her) eyes open when an incredible force slams into (his/her) throat. (F/N) gags and gasps as 173’s metal and wiry hand digs into (his/her) neck, squeezing. (F/N) immediately tries to pull back while clawing at the statue’s wrist. 173’s pupils had brightened, and that once gentle gaze was back to a stern leer. (F/N) barely budges from trying to slip away, his effortless grasp too strong for (F/N)’s futile struggles. (F/N) gasps as 173 squeezes tighter. The statue’s head slightly tilts, and then he slowly lifts his arm. (F/N)’s eyes widen, (his/her) legs kicking the air and body flailing like a fish on a hook. 173 is still unfazed. He lifts (F/N) above his head, staring.  


(F/N) tightens (his/her) grasp around 173’s wrist and with a strained snarl, kicks both (his/her) heels at 173’s chest. The statue continues to glare, unperturbed by (F/N)’s defensive attempt. (F/N) gasps and convulses slightly, (his/her) neck now burning and aching.  


“St-stop… pl-p-please,” (F/N) coughs as (he/she) attempts to dig (his/her) fingers between (his/her) sensitive flesh and 173’s powerful metal. _Where’s 079?_  


173 doesn’t respond, but his white pupils flick up and down, side to side. He studies (F/N) slowly, glancing at every inch of (his/her) body. He tilts his head as he looks at (F/N)’s face. (F/N)’s vision finally begins to darken from the corners, narrowing in on 173’s face. (He/She) couldn’t feel (his/her) neck anymore. (F/N) feebly lifts (his/her) legs, gently rolling them in circles as (he/she) tries to kick 173 again, but (his/her) bones shake and (his/her) muscles spasm.  


The door behind (F/N) suddenly opens. 173 snaps his gaze toward whatever it is, his grasp slightly loosening on (F/N). (F/N) fights the darkness’s embrace harder. 173 then looks at (F/N) again, (F/N) gasping and gagging. (F/N) shouts when 173’s fingers swiftly peel away, and (F/N) drops like a ragdoll to the hard floor. (F/N) coughs a couple of times and grasps (his/her) reddened neck. (F/N) pants softly and curls into a protective ball, staring at the peg tips of 173’s three, tripod-like legs.  


(F/N) shakes and convulses as (he/she) gulps for air. As (he/she) does so, (he/she) weakly peers at 173’s face, the statue seeming bigger and taller from below. 173 stares at (F/N) with an undistinguishable expression and then snaps his head to whatever is behind (F/N). 173 abruptly shifts his gaze to (F/N) for a second and suddenly whips around, a high-pitched squealing sound ringing in (F/N)’s ears. (F/N) flinches. (He/She) watches as 173’s tripod legs scrape against the floor swiftly, a few sparks flying, leaving light burn marks on the cemented floor.  


(F/N) props onto (his/her) elbows as 173 stops at the door, pressing his hand onto a metal door pad with a key card slot. The door doesn’t open, and therefore, gives 173 a denying beep. 173 suddenly slams his hands in between the separation line of the steel doors with a cacophonous bang, and (F/N) startles. The statue wedges his fingers in, the door denting outward, and he slowly and nearly _effortlessly_ pries the doors apart. The door squeals, shrieks, and hisses, fighting against the statue’s inhuman strength. The door finally groans and submits, sparking slightly when 173 gives it a violent rip, and the doors are forcefully rammed into the walls. The walls beside the door frame cracks, (F/N) flinching with a gasp.  


173 lowers his arms and then swiftly slides off with sounds of scraping stone. The statue disappears from view and (F/N) shifts onto (his/her) knees, slowly regaining strength. (He/She) turns and stares at the entity 173 continuously looked at. (F/N) immediately freezes.  


Nearly ten feet away stands a humanoid cladded in a brown, leather overcoat and pants, with its head topped with a dark brown fedora. It dons a brown, leather plague mask stitched at the sides and topped with golden goggles.  


Its brown gloves wield a bloodied wooden bat prickled with nails.


	14. Not the Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is still in the making, don't worry. I've come across many grammar mistakes in this story, so those will be fixed in every past chapter. To save me that time and effort with less stress, no new chapter will be posted or worked on until a majority of the heavy editing is done. 
> 
> This and maybe other stories will not be updated in a long while. This is because I have personal issues and other projects. I am also heading to school August 24th, and this year will be stressful. Not because of the virus, but because as a senior, I will have to take SATs and focus on my future.
> 
> I am also currently training to get fit for the Air Force. So my time on the Internet will be limited. When I do get on, it's to check to see if things are all right. Hopefully, I will at least edit an entire chapter in this book. 
> 
> Hope you all are doing okay during quarantine and hope you are all enjoying this book. 
> 
> \- Alpha, out for a while.

The plague doctor smacks the bat a few times into its gloved palm as its leather bird beak tilts to the side. The doctor’s hand suddenly strokes the bloodied nails of its bat as its beak perks up. The SCP tricks (F/N)’s mind for the quickest millisecond, its clothing and entire physique similar to another SCP that (F/N) is familiar with.  


But this thing is not who (F/N) thought it was.  


(F/N) straightens (his/her) back, and the spine softly cracks. The plague doctor taps a brown boot a few times.  


“You…” (F/N) forms words, and despite not being shaken with fear, (he/she) stammers. “You’re… n-not… You’re _not_ 049…”  


The brown plague doctor swiftly points the gruesome bat toward (F/N), and the human flinches as (he/she) again realizes the doctor stands nearly twenty feet away. “Aaaaand… you’re _not_ a doctor,” the doctor singsongs and then fiercely growls. Its voice is masculine, raspy and with screechy undertones. It reminds (F/N) of a shrieking bird.  


The plague doctor snaps its head violently to the side as it steps forward. Its movements are sudden yet predatory. “Yessssss,” it hisses. “I am the _true_ cure!” The doctor snaps his head up with an informative index finger. “And you… the Pestilence infests in you! Let me help… I can help!” The doctor screeches wildly as it lurches forward, its back nearly horizontal like a velociraptor, and it swings its bat as it sprints toward (F/N).  


(F/N) immediately snaps around and soars through the busted door. (He/She) screams as (he/she) attempts to vocalize louder than the SCP’s animalistic screeches. (F/N) slams (himself/herself) against doors, strikes (his/her) palms on door buttons, and glances around frantically for cameras dominated by 079.  


The crazed doctor thunders behind (F/N), a cacophonous crack echoes through the halls, the screeches blood-curdling and heart-tightening.  


“079!” (F/N) screeches at a camera as (he/she) zooms past with no time to hear the AI respond. _There’s no time!_ (F/N) collides into the door as (his/her) wrist slams on the button and sends a straining, abrupt pain through the ligaments of (his/her) hand. (F/N) yelps angrily, but the pain doesn’t sway (him/her).  


A forceful weight collides into (F/N)’s mid-back, which knocks the wind from (his/her) lungs and impels (him/her) to the cold, hard floor. Something hard grips at (F/N)’s right shoulder and a blunt object plunges into the middle of (his/her) spine. (F/N) presses (his/her) palms on the floor and pushes, but a heavy force slams (him/her) to the ground. (F/N) sees brown, leather fingers dig into the nook of (his/her) shoulder, and the nerves suddenly tingle and strain. (F/N) immediately curls (his/her) side like a fish and squirms under the plague doctor’s body.  


The plague doctor’s knee pushes into (F/N)’s back, a hand on (his/her) shoulder, and a brown and rubber boot slams onto (F/N)’s left arm. (F/N) cries out once its boot grinds at (his/her) wrist.  


“St-stop!” (F/N) screams. With a blurred gaze, (F/N) glances around the corridor with three doorways; (F/N) couldn’t find a camera. “Help! Somebody help! Get off me!” (F/N) screeches and lurches sideways, but the plague doctor still pins (him/her) like a mousetrap to the unsuspecting mouse.  


“You’re sick, (sir/ma’am)!” the plague doctor quips as its hand immediately cuffs (F/N)’s neck and forces (his/her) head into the floor. (F/N) muffles a yelp. “I must cure it! You’re sick! Do not worry, (sir/ma’am)! I am the _true_ cure! Do not push me away, do not call for help… no one else can cure your disease,” the plague doctor cooes.  


(F/N) wiggles under the doctor’s grasp and (his/her) peripheral witnesses a blur of brown and silver. A distant, electromagnetic door hisses and creaks open. The millisecond-long blur of brown and silver triggers a core-tightening snap in (F/N)’s gut. It also triggers a final verbal defense:  


“ _You’re_ not _the cure!_ ”  


(F/N) instantaneously squeezes (his/her) eyes taut once the plague doctor screeches animalistically.  


Stone scrapes.  


Abruptly, all within a few seconds, the doctor’s hand rips away from (F/N)’s neck, its knee from (his/her) back, and its boot from (his/her) arm. (F/N) opens (his/her) eyes. The doctor releases a shrill screech, and its bloodied, embellished bat clatters into (F/N)’s peripheral. (F/N) rolls onto (his/her) back swiftly and tosses (himself/herself) onto (his/her) feet. (F/N) freezes and stares at the slightly-over-seven-foot-tall back of SCP-173, the statue’s stance bold and wiry hands clenched.  


(F/N) peers past the statue and watches the plague doctor slowly rise to its feet -- with lanky and dislocated limbs. (F/N) winces every time a joint cracks in the plague doctor, its movements unnatural and flexible. (F/N) glances at the statue’s head; 173 seems to occupy its attention toward the plague doctor.  


Once the brown plague doctor stands tall, wrapped in its brown overcoat, its leather beak points to 173. The bird-face reaches to its face and tips its fedora. The doctor does not glance at (F/N), its taut physique frozen under the statue’s stare.  


(F/N) shudders a breath as (he/she) glances between the animalistic sixteenth-century plague doctor and the animate, inhumanly strong statue. _Two dominant predators facing off… this can’t go well._  


(F/N) shivers when the plague doctor immediately turns its head and peers at (him/her). 173 doesn’t move, however, but his metal hands unfurl.  


The brown plague doctor tilts its head. The humanoid SCP suddenly snaps around, its trench coat swinging with the might of its turn, and the doctor swiftly disappears through a door.  


(F/N) couldn’t find a way to relax (himself/herself). The statue turns his head slightly and a beaming, white iris in green, spray-painted sclera eerily peers at the D-Class. (F/N) steps back and blinks.  


Stone scrapes and 173 fully faces (F/N). (F/N) jumps and raises a hand. 173 seems to gently stare at (him/her).  


“You… I don’t know what you want,” (F/N) softly states as (he/she) gazes at the SCP. “You act like you want something… ah, but thank you for saving me.” (F/N) gives 173 a light grin. The statue reacts with the slightest tilt of his head. “Can you talk?”  


_As if it can… He doesn’t have a mouth!_  


As (F/N) figures, the statue doesn’t answer. He doesn’t speak ( _Obviously._ ) nor does he gesture. (F/N) sighs and blinks again. 173 didn’t move a millimeter.  


“Do not worry.”  


The wobbly, male-generated artificial intelligence voice startles (F/N), but immediately into relieving excitement. (F/N) peers above the doorway (he/she) entered, and a silver CCTV camera spies upon (him/her) with its light cerulean blue eye. (F/N) immediately smiles at the AI.  


“079… you’re okay?”  


“Response. Correct. There are no cameras in the long corridor halls. I could not prevent 049-J from pursuing you.”  


“049-J? That’s what that asshole’s called?” (F/N) frowns and furrows (his/her) brows.  


“Correct. Digression. I spoke to 173. He understands.”  


(F/N)’s eyes flick to the statue that continues to stare. He still hasn’t moved. (F/N) nods at 079. “Okay. Thank you.”  


Abruptly, the statue moves. He leans and his stone body crunches from his movements. (F/N) leans back and widens (his/her) eyes as 173 levels his green eyes to (his/hers). The beady, white pinpoints in its green eyes flick over (F/N)’s body.  


“Uh…” (F/N) breathes and also studies the statue’s dark beige concrete body. Old blood stains and scrapes bejewel the monstrosity. The statue quickly glances below and then gazes at (F/N)’s face. He continues to stare, which nerves a tingle in (F/N)’s chest. (F/N) musters the courage to bite (his/her) lip. _The statue never blinks._ “You… like what you see?”  


(F/N) regrets the words as they venture from (his/her) mouth. (F/N) tosses (his/her) eyes to the ground as (his/her) cheek complexion flushes. _So stupid!_  


_I wouldn’t tempt me._ The voice snaps (F/N)’s gaze to 173’s green eyes. The voice echoes from within the back of (F/N)’s mind, yet it is masculine. (F/N)’s shoulders tense as the statue slowly straightens. _My hands can do a lot more than kill when it comes to a tasty thing like you._  


(F/N)’s face draws blank as (his/her) spine shivers. “Ah… it was a joke?”  


The statue tilts his head. _You haven’t mustered enough spunk yet, have you?_  


(F/N) sighs and rubs (his/her) left arm. “I haven’t been around a whole lot of SCPs.”  


173 flexes his metal fingers and reverses himself, and a few sparks fly as his stone, tripod peg legs scrape. 079’s warbled voice suddenly tears into the air, which tears fear into (F/N)’s heart. It _wasn’t_ 079’s voice that sends a hungry python constricting (F/N)’s beating muscle, but rather the sheer terror that underlies the AI’s voice.  


_How can an AI feel fear?_  


“(F/N)! You need to move!” the microcomputer nearly shouts; the sentient computer became so struck with a humanly emotion that it forgot its programmed remarks before its responses.  


Low growling rumbles from beneath (F/N), and (F/N) couldn’t lift (his/her) feet. Panicked, (F/N) peers at (his/her) feet -- (he/she) didn’t have any. They were both encumbered by a black, gooey substance that permeates a sulphuric smell and intense heat. Black hands materialize from the black and latch onto (F/N)’s shins like iron clamps, and with a powerful yank, (F/N) immediately shrinks and becomes engulfed in darkness.


	15. Bird's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the updates took so long! I know these next chapters are fairly short, but I'm mainly trying to move things along. Plus, I was taking a break. My Mewtwo Strikes Back remake is on break for now while I continue to develop more of the outline.  
> 
> 
> *Pronouns for (F/N) are now referred to as they/them pronouns due to requests. I do take my viewers’ criticisms into heart (as long as they’re valid and specific). So, if you find this better than the (he/she) strategy, let me know. If you prefer the (he/she), also let me know. Until I’m told otherwise, the story will continue as they/them pronouns.

_What the hell?_ (F/N) awakens with a pounding head and a groan. They open their eyes, but their eyes have nothing to adjust to. It is dark, where-ever they are. (F/N) finds the strength to sit straight and then look around. They huff through their nostrils in exhaustion. (F/N) notes they are stuck in the middle of a dull white room with four dark hallways all around them. The floor is made of blood-red bricks. (F/N) notes the awful stench of sulfur.  


(F/N) stands and stumbles. They grunt and shake the dizziness from their head. (F/N) suddenly pants, as if standing had just caused a mild heart attack. Their muscles twitch and feel strained and light -- _Duly noted._  


_Can’t run here,_ (F/N) thinks. _Where is here? What is here?_ (F/N) stumbles to the open, dark doorway to their left. As they walk, their footsteps echo. They grab the brutally dirty and rusty white wall and inspect its filth. (F/N) wipes their hand over the wall and then abhors the grime on their palm.  


“Gross,” they huff and wipe on their prisoner jumpsuit. (F/N) peers into the endless void before them and squints. Their eyes widen as they suddenly remember a pair of dark hands biting their ankles and dragging them down. (F/N) staggers back and winces. “079… and 173. They’re there!” (F/N) stumbles forward into the darkness. “They’re waiting for me… I have to get out.”  


“Not yet…” a raspy voice whispers from the darkness before (F/N).  


(F/N) immediately freezes as their blood runs cold. Their brain suddenly snaps and everything turns black once a disgusting, deformed face flashes from within the darkness.  


(F/N) wakes. They can’t tell how long they’ve been out, but they knew it was not very long. They no longer felt dizzy, but they still felt weak. The brick beneath them was now dark brown, but the walls are still white. Yet, the white walls are not as filthy as before; the walls provided light somehow. (F/N) stumbles as they stand. They grit their teeth and glare around them. The bright walls close around them, but a singular, red hallway stretches from behind (F/N). The further away it travels, the darker the red hue becomes. (F/N) growls softly and limps toward the crimson hallway. Their footsteps echo.  


(F/N) snarls and musters their strength to yell at the top of their lungs, “Get me out of here, Old Man!”  


Their voice echoes, the walls the only things responding to them in this dark dimension. (F/N) scoffs to themself as they limp further into the dark red hallway. Eventually, the dark red hallway encloses into a dark red room with a massive stone pillar. (F/N) squints their eyes and peers around the dimly lit room.  


A presence in the room sends (F/N)’s blood to run cold and their muscles to spasm. (F/N)’s eyes slowly slide over the red pillar, which sculpts into a massive, stone seat. Atop the seat, sits a dark, old man. (F/N) growls.  


“Let… me… _out_!” (F/N) snarls.  


“First,” the Old Man harshly orders, his voice raspy and condescending, “ _kneel_.”  


“You are no king to me!” (F/N) yells with narrowed eyes. At this point, the words just slip out. (F/N) doesn’t think much over what they say to this Keter-Class anomaly.  


“Kneel!” he booms. (F/N) bares their teeth at him. No way would they allow themself to be subdued easily by this monster!  


_Alpha wouldn’t like it if I was._  


The Old Man growls and slams a dark hand on his arm rest, which causes (F/N)’s muscles to startle. “You may be a future monarch of mine, (F/N)...” (F/N)’s mind snaps asleep once again as the Old Man’s words echo, “ _But you are no monarch here_!”  


(F/N) startles awake once again. They find themselves laying in dirt -- a dirt trench in fact. In front of them, on top of the trench, is a small wooden bridge. (F/N) slowly stands and they notice they do not feel weak. (F/N) shields their eyes from the bright sky; though it wasn’t necessarily _bright_ , their eyes had to adjust from the Old Man’s dark dimension. But (F/N) still knew they were there, trapped in his mind games. They can still feel his presence laugh in the distance.  


Growling, (F/N) digs their fingers into the dirt of the trench and pulls themself over the top -- but a force greater than gravity pulls them down. (F/N)’s thoughts become confused, so they try again. After realizing it was like an invisible wall in a video game, they slide back into the trench with a huff.  


_What the hell is this place?_ (F/N) notes if it’s based on the Old Man’s imagination, they’re pretty much screwed. With a huff, (F/N) moves forward. Suddenly, the atmosphere thickens and (F/N)’s lungs fight and burn. It was so sudden, (F/N) had to cough periodically. (F/N) passes underneath a poorly constructed wooden bridge. They do not move forward; a large, black, winged form soars above the trench.  


The creature rumbles and not once does it flap its feathered wings. It resembles a massive hawk and it almost looks metallic and rusted. As it passes over, (F/N) can glimpse its exposed ribs. The creature makes no sound other than a plane-like rumble. (F/N) grits their teeth and stay hidden beneath the boards. The creature passes over after five minutes of waiting and heads back the way it came.  


For some reason, (F/N) didn’t find it in their place to fear this thing, but rather, they were more confused about its origin.  


_Five minutes,_ (F/N) notes. (F/N) cranes their neck, but the trench curves and therefore, (F/N) cannot see the next small bridge. _I’ll just have to book it._  


(F/N) starts to sprint -- only to lose stamina within two seconds. (F/N) grunts and pants. They scramble and speed walk through the long trench. (F/N) almost feels like breaking into a sweat. The sky rumbles.  


(F/N) widens their eyes. _Oh no._  


They try to speed up, but with every step, their legs become numb. The beast’s shadow falls over the trench. (F/N)’s eyes unwillingly stare at the beast and its ribcage opens. It exposes a massive eye that envelopes its entire torso, its eye dark and veiny. Once it's out of sight, (F/N) finds control over their body. (F/N) shakes their head and then continues forward. Around a corner, is another bridge, so (F/N) hunkers underneath it. They pant as the sky rumbles.  


The bird passes over and its ribs don’t open. Once it’s out of sight, (F/N) treks forward. (F/N)’s heart heavies as their ankles heavy from the weight of their body. The mud in the trench dampens and (F/N)’s body begins to sludge and sink into the wet soil. (F/N) stumbles, slips, and trips into mud repeatedly, and also gets caught in the eye of the bird-plane. (F/N)’s muscles strain and their bones turn to jelly. Their eyes close and they face-plant into the mud.  


(F/N) awakes. Their face rests on hard, cemented ground. They slowly sit up and peer at the rotting, wooden buildings that loom over them. The sky keeps its eerie gray pigment. (F/N) looks ahead and then stumbles onto their feet. With a growl, (F/N) snarls, “I’m tired of your games, Old Man!”  


(F/N)’s voice echoes and then the sky roars. It sends (F/N) nearly crumbling to their bottom and the bird-plane soars over the alleyway. (F/N) stares at the beast in awe, but it does not reveal its eye. It passes over and the sky rumbles in the distance. (F/N) looks ahead and then races to the edge of the alleyway. They suddenly skid, the alleyway ending in a sheer cliff. With a few pants, (F/N) looks over an abandoned and rotting ghost town, with quite a few of those bird-planes soaring over the town.  


(F/N) huffs and then wind abruptly rushes from below the cliff. (F/N) shields their face as warm air blows over and something roars. (F/N) gazes in awe and drops their jaw as a jet black bird-plane rises from below, its dead bird-face staring at (F/N). Up close, (F/N) can see every individual oily feather, every skeletal feature, and its taloned feet. It slowly flaps its wings, a movement seemingly unnatural to this flying beast.  


It stares at (F/N) for a long moment and then it turns. Its wings straighten and its feet tuck in as it becomes plane-like. As it soars off to join its brethren, (F/N) turns to their right and down some wooden stairs that connect the elevated buildings. (F/N) slowly moves down the steps, occasional scares consisting of creaks and minor cracking in the old wood planks. (F/N) couldn’t help but swear to themself as they trekked down the flight of stairs. (F/N) reaches the dirty, cemented bottom, and immediately feels secured.  


(F/N) sighs softly and watches the dark bird-planes soar briefly. (F/N)’s (e/c) eyes flick ahead and they growl. The Old Man sits on an old bench and peers at (F/N). His grotesque face does not don a sneer, unlike his photos which are depicted from Alpha’s drawings.  


(F/N) speed walks toward him with a snarl. “Let me out of here, 106!”  


106’s dark hands clench into taut fists as he tilts his head. His dark, beady eyes squint. “You…” His voice is light and raspy. “My name isn’t 106.”  


(F/N) stops nearly ten feet away from the anomaly. They soften a bit. “Your name…?”  


“You wouldn’t know it…” 106 frowns and looks down. “I don’t remember.”  


(F/N) also frowns. They gently add, “106 -- I know that’s not your name, but -- you have to let me out.” The Old Man stares at them blankly.  


(F/N) watches as 106 looks to the sky. He looks… innocent. “Monsters exist,” he states and points to the sky with a dark, grotesque finger.  


(F/N) nods and watches the bird-planes soar.  


“They turned me into… _this_ ,” 106 explains. (F/N) watches 106 look at his hands. He looks at (F/N) and he suddenly looks human. “Be careful, child. You might be like this one day. Alternate timelines are a fickle thing… if I hadn't fought in the war, I would’ve died a happy man. But I did… and now I’m here. I’m this way.”  


(F/N) opens their mouth but 106 speaks loudly, “Alpha awaits. You may go.” He swipes a hand toward them, and so (F/N) blacks out a final time.  


_Your Highness._   



	16. Morning, Sunshine

(F/N)’s (e/c) eyes snap open to adjust to the bright lights of the foundation’s hall and polished floors. _I’m back!_ (F/N) unusually felt relieved to be back in the hellhole -- mainly because it was a hellhole they knew. (F/N)’s eyes see a CCTV camera with blue lenses loom over them and watches with observing eyes. They smile at the SCP as they sit up.  


“079,” (F/N) says. Something suddenly hits their back, hard enough to knock (F/N)’s wind from their lungs.  


“Morning, sunshine!”  


(F/N) narrows their eyes and turns toward the voice. Alpha stands over them and reaches down. She grabs their arm and pulls them onto their feet, yet (F/N) feels dizzy. Alpha pats (F/N)’s back and they look toward the dark Plague Doctor behind Alpha.  


“You’ve had an adventure, I see,” Alpha states as she crosses her arms. Behind the netting of her mask’s eyeholes, her eyes glint gold.  


(F/N) bites their lip and rubs the daze from their eyes. “Yeah, I had quite the tea party.”  


(F/N) jumps as they just notice 049 right beside them. The Plague Doctor’s hand grasps (F/N)’s jaw as his beak nearly grazes their nose. His blue eyes flick over (F/N)’s face and then he leans back as he releases their face. (F/N) draws away and rubs their jaw.  


“(F/N) appears a bit disoriented, Alpha,” the Plague Doctor notes. “I think they need some time to rest.”  


Alpha shrugs and looks at the CCTV camera. “Exidy, do we have time?”  


“Response,” 079 answers from the camera. “Yes. 682 is on his way to retrieve me.”  


“Eh,” Alpha huffs as she grabs (F/N). She tugs them through the hall and 049 follows with haste. “I’ll keep them with me; they’ll rest when we’re out.”  


(F/N) frowns but doesn’t fight against the Thaumiel entity. _Why exactly is she Thaumiel anyway?_ They recall Dr. Cimmerian saying Thaumiels can cause a K-Class event… _Yeah, that might be her._ (F/N) frowns again. _But why am I not worried?_  


Alpha glances at (F/N). “We couldn’t find Sock, (N/N).”  


(F/N) blushes at the nickname. _Oh, yeah, that name._ “Who?”  


Alpha snorts. “You don’t remember? _Sock._ SCP-035. Do you not listen to anything I tell you?”  


(F/N) scowls as Alpha pulls them through a doorway. To (F/N), the hallways seem to get longer. “Sorry I couldn’t remember a few things while I was being hunted and chased by both SCPs and staff.”  


“Apology accepted,” Alpha retorts.  


(F/N) frowns and 049 snorts.  


“Alpha, keep in mind that (F/N)’s still adjusting to their anomalous properties,” 049 defends. “This alone would be too much for a mortal mind, and an innocent one at that.”  


(F/N) continues to frown. _Still feels like I’m being called out for my stupidity…_  


Alpha halts with 049 and (F/N) as the building abruptly shakes. (F/N) notices the CCTV camera in the room suddenly loses its light and droops. (F/N)’s grip tightens around Alpha’s sleeved arm. Alpha also seems to notice the camera.  


“Drake finally got Exidy,” she retorts as the building stops shuddering. She looks to 049 and (F/N). “We need to hurry to the elevator.”  


“What about the other SCPs?” (F/N) asks. “The ones you wanted to bring?”  


Alpha grumbles as she opens a door, which reveals the elevator. “I’ve alerted them to reach Gate B. There, they’ll wait for my signal.”  


Alpha releases (F/N) and calls the elevator. (F/N) rubs their arm and tenses as the Plague Doctor looms beside them in his six-foot-four glory. They wait patiently.  


“What about Nine-Tailed Fox?” (F/N) asks and peers at Alpha’s back. “079 told me MTF has been eradicated.”  


Alpha sighs and glances at (F/N). The elevator comes into view in its shaft as it lowers. She seems to mumble something in Greek. “They should come through Gate A, so those at Gate B should be safe.”  


The building suddenly rumbles and some debris falls from the ceiling. The elevator dings. Stone scrapes. Alpha remains still, despite the elevator’s hungry maw presenting to her.  


With the familiar sound, (F/N) snaps to their left. They gasp at the tall, concrete SCP. “173!” they gasp.  


“Ah, your arrival is on cue,” Alpha states as she, too, faces the stone SCP. She glances between 173 and 049. “You two go on ahead. Meet Larry and Sock at Gate B. Dr. Bright should also be there.” She faces (F/N). “We’ll be back shortly.”  


(F/N) tenses as they immediately realize what Alpha implies. “Oh… can I go with them?” They gesture to the elevator. “Please?”  


Alpha shakes her head. “No. I need you to come with me to find Rake. You can learn to communicate with SCPs.”  


(F/N) huffs and then frowns. “Who’s Rake?”  


“096,” Alpha retorts and walks past (F/N). Her side grazes theirs.  


(F/N) hesitantly nods as they shudder.  


“We don’t have much time, Alpha,” 049 retorts and his voice hardens.  


“You can hold your ground at Gate B,” Alpha argues, her tone also holding a rough edge. “Do not go to the surface without my signal.”  


049 nods.  


_If all Hell happens,_ 173 states as his eyes peer at 049, _we can use the dogs._  


“Good,” Alpha retorts and waves off the two SCPs. She turns and grabs (F/N). “Come, child.”  


(F/N) strides alongside Alpha. As they leave the elevator room, (F/N) glances at the rising elevator. The door shuts and Alpha leads the way through the halls of Sublevel 3.  


“Will they really be all right against Nine-Tailed Fox?” (F/N) asks.  


“You underestimate us if you think we can’t defend ourselves from militia,” Alpha answers. She leads the way through another door.  


“Well, what about the other SCPs that _can’t_ go anywhere?” (F/N) presses. “What about Tickles? What about Josie?” (F/N) did have a fondness over those two delicate and friendly SCPs.  


“After we eradicate NTF and disable the Omega Warhead, Chaos Insurgency will help us eradicate the rest of the staff as the Serpent’s Hand will safely transport the other inanimate SCPs and Safe-Classed SCPs to a Sanctuary that SCP-001 has crafted for them.”  


(F/N) narrows their eyes. “SCP-001? Isn’t that the Scarlet King? And what’s Chaos Insurgency? What’s the Serpent’s Hand?”  


Alpha chuckles. “Oh, child. You have much to learn, with so little time.”  



	17. Right On Time

A mid-thirties, tanned man that wears a white coat and black glasses waits beside the steel-clad massive door. Painted over the door was a white letter: “B.” The man’s auburn hair and goatee shines from the lighting of the room, and the color matches his caramel brown eyes. Beside the scientist, the Old Man stands in his rust and goo. Another scientist leans against the wall, but jet black goo covers his arms, neck, and head. A white mask with a large smile and black tears latches onto the scientist’s face. Its mouth forms a massive black smile and its black eye-holes shine with a hue of violet.  


Every few minutes, they all shift uncomfortably.  


The normal-looking scientist looks at the door to the gate room when something growls. A red beast peers into the doorway with its fanged, eyeless head. The spikes on its spine shudders and its claws scrape the ground. Three of them lurk outside the doorway and stand guard from the scientist’s orders.  


The building suddenly shudders and the scientist falls against the steel gate. The masked scientist clutches the smooth wall. The scientist on the gate grunts and the building goes silent.  


“Well?” the masked scientist asks, his voice deep and almost synthetic, but musical. “Isn’t there more?”  


“There should be,” the auburn-haired scientist replies as he straightens himself. “We need to wait. Ah, right on time, too!”  


The three red, hound-like SCPs start to softly growl and clear the doorway. Two SCPs stride in -- the Plague Doctor and the statue. The scientist sighs in relief but then suddenly frowns.  


“There’s more, 035, but not all,” he states as he gestures toward the two SCPs.  


_Nice to see you too, Dr. Bright,_ 173 huffs with a roll of his eyes.  


“Some must’ve already reached the surface…” 106 states quietly. “Or… terminated.”  


“Don’t forget a majority in this Site are inanimate,” 049 states informatively. “After all, SCP-914 can’t simply walk from its confines.” His beak lifts slightly as he stares at Bright. “Alpha went with (F/N) to retrieve 096.”  


Bright nods. “All right. A pity I have to wait to meet this new SCP. What is their designation again?”  


“SCP-A2, I believe,” 049 answers.  


“Ah, makes sense,” Dr. Bright quips. “Does she know SCP-A1 is here?”  


049 nods. “SCP-A1 will rise upon this site’s fall.”  


“Perhaps it’s because I’ve been immobile for a long time,” 035 states as his purple eyes flash. The masked scientist glances at 049, “but no-one has ever informed me of this… SCP-A1 or A2.”  


“SCP-A1 is classified,” Dr. Bright sighs. “In other words, even I don’t know. But SCP-A2 was a D-Class that Alpha bonded with. She claims they’re a part of her prophecy and will help her with her endeavors.”  


“ _Our_ endeavors,” 049 corrects and Bright nods. The building suddenly shakes again and they all try to balance themselves. The ceiling cracks and some dust falls. Bright glances at the ceiling with worry.  


The building quiets and Bright huffs. “Damn, that lizard is gonna kill us before NTF.”  


_Well, that lizard has 079,_ 173 retorts.  


Dr. Bright nods. “682 is our way out. I just hope he doesn’t kill us in the process.”  


“Where’s Kondraki and Cimmerian?” 049 asks abruptly.  


Bright frowns and notes the Plague Doctor would generally care about other great doctors in the facility. “Kondraki… is diseased, doctor. And Cimmerian left to Site-17 a while ago.”  


The building shakes and more debris falls from the ceiling.  


“If this building goes with us…” 106 remarks, “I will gladly take you all to my dimension.”  


“682’s destruction may not be our biggest threat,” Dr. Bright states. “We still have the Alpha Warheads --”  


_They were turned off by 079,_ 173 muses.  


Bright pauses and then nods. “Okay, good! But… what about the Omega Warhead?” The SCPs remain silent. “The only way to disable it is manually on the surface. Our signal is when 682 reaches the surface and manages to eradicate at least most of NTF.”  


The building shivers ever-so-slightly.  


“Well, Alpha better hurry with her errands,” 035 growls.  


“I’m here.” The voice is feminine, soft, small, and quiet.  


The SCPs turn to face the doorway and they all soften. The three red dogs sit patiently and allow the little girl to stand in the doorway. Her hair is chin-length and brown, her eyes emerald green, her dress soft and pink, her shoes shiny black. She seems to be about six years old.  


Dr. Bright widely smiles as one of the red dogs nudges the little girl. She giggles and pats its leathery head.  


“Ah, Abby!” he greets. “Right on time!”  



	18. Nearly There

(F/N) winces as some ceiling dust falls as the building shivers like a frozen child on a winter’s day. (F/N)’s eyes fall to the blood-stained walls and floor, as if someone painted it crimson. Pieces of cloth and meat decorate the ground and walls. (F/N) bites their lip as Alpha remains beside them. Alpha seems to frown as she glances around. She steps forward a few more paces, which leaves (F/N) behind.  


(F/N) stares at the bony, pale, back of a weeping entity about twenty feet away. He was also stained with blood and his blood-stained hands cover his pale face. (F/N) feels the dread of premonition hit their stomach as Alpha gestures for them to come by her. (F/N) slowly approaches the Thaumiel SCP, and so she grabs their arm. Her mask turns to (F/N). She pulls (F/N) in front of her and then gently pushes her toward 096.  


“Go on,” Alpha hums.  


(F/N) narrows their eyes and then looks at Alpha. “What? What do you want _me_ to do?”  


“Bring Rake to me, (N/N),” Alpha mentions and crosses her arms. The crimson room makes her appear ominous. “Talk to him. It’ll strengthen your communication skills with the other SCPs.”  


(F/N) bites their lip and looks at the weeping anomaly. His sobs echo. (F/N) takes a hesitant step forward and then freezes as their blood runs cold. The idea of 096 in general just makes (F/N)’s skin crawl and heart heavy.  


Alpha clears her throat and (F/N) looks at her. “To express oneself will tighten a bond, (N/N). That works on most anomalies… and animals.”  


(F/N) gives Alpha a quick grin and nod. They face 096. With a deep breath, (F/N) slowly approaches the crying SCP. As they get closer, (F/N) feels their muscles ache, their heart anchor, and if (F/N) wasn’t too nervous, their eyes would’ve welled. (F/N) inches forward and tentatively reaches out their hand. 096’s shoulders shake as he cries and sniffles. (F/N) bites their lip as their fingertips graze the clean area of his arm. Immediately, (F/N) jerks their arm back, but 096 barely notices. He only continues to sob.  


(F/N) glances at Alpha. Alpha still has her arms crossed, but her masked head nods. (F/N) swallows their spit and looks at 096. They lift a foot and step next to the standing entity. (F/N) lifts a shaking hand and gently places it on 096’s arm. (F/N) avoids eye contact with his face.  


The entity continues to cry and pays no attention to the human dressed in prisoner garb next to him. (F/N) doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that he doesn’t mind, or on edge as anything can happen. They hope it is the former.  


(F/N) keeps their eyes trained on the blood-covered grounds. _Alpha, I don’t know what to say._  


_Then don’t say. Feel._  


(F/N) nods with a frown and looks at the entity’s hands as he lowers them. They avoid his face -- while they know they are fine if they look at him, they know it adds stress to the anomaly. And stress is the last thing they all need. But 096 radiates a pain and stress that was nearly impossible to avoid. He was an entity that was always in pain. A pain that (F/N) could feel. The feelings fill (F/N)’s neurons with a past pain, and that pain made them see 096 more… _human_ for this brief moment.  


(F/N) leans closer to 096, and his sobs soften. “Rake,” (F/N) whispers as they seal their eyes shut. (F/N) feels their hand down 096’s thin, bony forearm, and winces at the feeling of slime. (F/N) soon feels the bony structure of his wrist and then grasps at his ulnar collateral between his elongated, bony thumb and index finger. 096 reacts with some whines, but his fingers gently fold over (F/N)’s. (F/N) shudders a breath as sympathy washes over their entire being. They felt bad for this creature!  


_This must be what Alpha experiences!_  


(F/N) finally opens their eyes as courage suddenly washes over. They look at 096’s face with a gentle smile.  


096’s milky eyes gaze back as his facial features contort with sadness. All that comes from his mouth are moans and soft whimpers. His jaws are stained with blood as well, and bloody saliva drips from his maw. For some reason, it doesn’t sway (F/N). They reach up with their free hand gently pat the entity’s bald, shiny head.  


“We’re almost free,” (F/N) whispers softly and lowers their hand. “We’ll breathe fresh air. We’re nearly there, Rake. Come with us.” (F/N) steps back and gently pulls on 096’s arm. (F/N) grins as 096 also turns and then latches onto their jumpsuit. “That’s it. Come. Follow us.” (F/N) gently pulls the anomaly toward Alpha, and 096 follows with a few sniffles and whimpers.  


(F/N) stares at Alpha as they approach her with 096. Alpha keeps her arms crossed and (F/N) stops next to her.  


“You’re welcome,” Alpha utters.  


(F/N) squints their eyes. “For what?”  


“For giving you extra courage,” she muses and turns. She waves two gloved fingers of her right hand. “Come on then. Back to the elevator.”  


(F/N) frowns and follows as 096 remains latched onto their jumpsuit. “Why do you tell me to strengthen my communication bonds, when you don’t let me do it on my own?”  


“Because you’re too afraid,” Alpha mutters and opens a door. “We have little time for you to gradually leave your fears behind, (N/N). So, I simply give you slight nudges to induce specific emotions and behaviors you normally wouldn’t experience given certain situations. Sudden bursts of courage, for example.”  


They enter the elevator lounge; they didn’t go that far from it. As they enter, (F/N) keeps their eyes trained on Alpha’s back. They remain silent until Alpha presses the elevator button.  


“So, you gave me courage when 049-J attacked, right before 173 came?”  


“To ease your mind, yes.”  


The elevator lowers and then slows as it reaches its destination. The elevator doors ding open and Alpha walks in. (F/N) follows and so does 096. His fingers tweak and fiddle with the back of (F/N)’s jumpsuit.  


“And let me guess…” (F/N) frowns. “You gave me courage throughout the entire time I was trapped in 106’s pocket dimension?”  


“Oh, Larry?” Alpha asks. Her mask faces (F/N). “No, that must’ve been your own courage caused by _you_. I do not have any manipulation or any means of control in Larry’s world. Especially if I’m not in it -- not that I ever was in it.”  


(F/N) harrumphs. “So… I guess I do good on my own?”  


Alpha shrugs. “Maybe a little.” She presses the button to Sublevel 1. “Now, once we’re out, most likely we’ll have to fight like Hell.”  


(F/N) looks at her with worry. “How?” 096 whimpers and tugs at (F/N)’s jumpsuit.  


“If you can’t fight, (N/N), then use the other SCPs to your advantage,” Alpha nods and crosses her arms again. She flicks her head toward 096.  


(F/N) glances at 096 and pats his arm as he tugs. They frown. “That seems a little cruel, don’t you think?”  


Alpha chuckles and (F/N) tilts their head. “You’d be surprised, (F/N).” Alpha sighs. “But it’s good that you put them before you. A good sign of leadership.”  


(F/N) blushes slightly and then shudders as the elevator suddenly shudders with them. Alpha looks around and then looks at (F/N).  


“What are we doing after we clear out the site?” (F/N) asks.  


Alpha sighs. “We’ll go with Chaos Insurgency and the Serpent’s Hand. They’ve situated a base in the frozen north of Canada. There, we’ll rest and recuperate.”  


(F/N) shakes their head. “How do you know to trust them?” (F/N) feels the elevator slow.  


Alpha grabs (F/N)’s arm. “I know people. They’ll help… after all, I do need an army.”  


The elevator doors ding open and show a clean lounge in Sublevel 1. A Roomba sweeps the floor. Alpha pulls (F/N) and 096 from the elevator and then the doors close. Alpha pulls the duo through the lounge and (F/N) suddenly gasps as they remember something.  


“Oh, Alpha!” they remark. “There’s a Tesla Gate on this level. We need to watch out for that.”  


“Oh, don’t worry,” Alpha states as she pulls an 04 card from her hoodie’s pouch. She swipes the card and the door to the next hallway buzzes open. She pockets the card and pulls them through. “Remember, that Exidy disabled the Tesla Gates. Besides, the Tesla Gate is over by Gate A, and we’re going to Gate B.”  


They enter another hallway, but this hallway (F/N) immediately recognizes. (F/N) stops for a moment and then gets tugged by Alpha.  


“Come on, dear, we need to stay moving,” Alpha mutters as she steps over a dead corpse of a bullet-riddled D-Class. 096 tightens his grasp around (F/N) as they nervously glance at the open cell doors and the bullet-riddled, bloody corpses of other prisoners. (F/N) glances at their orange prisoner jumpsuit and frowns. They reach the other door and Alpha presses the button. She glances at (F/N).  


“Don’t fret, child,” she muses. (F/N) looks at her. “Your prisoner life is behind you. Ahead, on the surface, is freedom. And within that freedom, time will only tell. What… will be your choice?” She leers at (F/N) and gold flashes behind the black netting of her eye-holes.  


(F/N) swallows nervously and then Alpha pulls them into the next room. The room was massive, with an overhead walkway pass and many desks, chairs, and desktops. The room was boxy, and had one door on each side of the square room. Alpha pauses when they reach the middle of the massive office room. Alpha looks at the overhead pass and then to the door on the left. She then continues forward to the door ahead.  


“Stop!”  


The voice startles (F/N) and causes Alpha to freeze in her tracks. 096 only continues his moans and whimpers. They look to their right -- toward the origin of the screeching voice. A man clad in brown leather and wielding a blood-stained bat with nails rushes through the door on the right. The brown fedora and plague mask (F/N) immediately recognizes.  


_Oh, crap!_  


Panic sets through (F/N), and so they duck behind Alpha, which breaks 096’s grasp. 096 sputters incoherently as a result, and Alpha merely glances at (F/N). 049-J continues to rush at them with his bat ready.  


Suddenly, 096 straightens and widens his maw. His jawbone sickenly cracks and his mouth widens to an impressive size as he yells at the other anomaly. This causes 049-J to freeze in his tracks, but 096 does not lunge at the plague doctor. 096 continues to stand in front of Alpha and (F/N) as a completely new, defensive creature. Alpha only tilts her head as (F/N)’s (e/c) eyes glances back and forth between the Shy Guy and the off-branded Plague Doctor.  


(F/N) frowns as 049-J stands about five feet away from 096, and then he hides his bat behind his back. 049-J raises his free hand as he crouches slightly. His goggled mask eyes glance at (F/N).  


“I… am sorry,” the plague doctor states and gestures toward (F/N). His voice sounds unpleasant, but he seems to force back the insanity within his voice. To (F/N), it makes him sound more eerie -- he suddenly acted a bit more human than animalistic. The doctor looks at Alpha, almost pleadingly, through 096’s arm. “My dear, you know I didn’t mean to harm your apprentice! I had no idea they were with you! Please, my dear, forgive me!”  


Alpha tilts her head again. But before she can speak, armed men with navy blue denim charge into the room from the door they were heading to. They point their automatic rifles and shout. (F/N) startles at their appearance, and manages to read the letters plastered on their vests: “ _N.T.F._ ”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! You almost made it to freedom! :)
> 
> Now, I know most of you may like the next chapter ;). Another character is introduced, and it's one that a few people are really excited for.


	19. Kill Them

Some of the Nine-Tailed Fox soldiers shout in surprise as 096 suddenly covers his face and begins to scream. (F/N) covers their ears as Alpha steps back. 096 throws back his hands and cracks his jaw wide open with a blood-curdling scream. A couple of NTF soldiers scream and aim their rifles. The automatic weapons fire and the room blazes with epileptic light.  


However, despite 096’s flesh being clipped away by bronze bullets, he tears right through the NTF soldiers that looked at him in a matter of seconds. (F/N) diverts their eyes from the massacre. The other NTF soldiers in the room are smart enough to do the same. As 096 turns docile once again and crouches over his sea of blood with heavy sobs, the remaining NTF soldiers approach Alpha, 049-J, and (F/N). They point their guns.  


“Get on the ground!” the closest soldier barks. (F/N) looks at them in fear and then glances at Alpha. She does not glance back. “Now!” The NTF soldiers continue to train their guns. 096 continues to sob in the corner of the room, and his wails echo.  


Alpha finally looks at (F/N). “Stand down, child. Get down.” Then, she looks at the soldiers and slowly raises her gloved hands in surrender. (F/N) sighs and follows Alpha’s lead. They both slowly lower to their knees. The soldiers shift their guns -- 049-J did not move a muscle. With a growl, Alpha grabs the animalistic plague doctor’s arm and pulls him down harshly. Once they are kneeled with hands surrendered, the building shudders. (F/N) winces from the shaking. The soldiers seem to pay no attention.  


The closest soldier lowers his weapon, but the others remain unfazed. The soldier pulls out a walkie talkie and flips into a staticky channel. “Yankee-One, we have a D-Class and three SCPs --” The NTF soldier glances at them -- “096, 049-J, and 049-96. Over.”  


The walkie talkie beeps and a slightly staticky voice, “Yankee-Four, leave 096. Bring the other two… terminate the D-Class. Over.”  


(F/N) immediately perks and widens their eyes.  


The NTF soldier nods. “Yes sir.” He looks at an NTF soldier to his right. “Grab them.”  


“Yes sir,” the other NTF soldier says and lowers his gun. (F/N) lowers their arms and shrinks in their spot as the soldier approaches.  


Suddenly, 049-J snarls and rams into (F/N)’s side. (F/N) grunts and lands on their back. 049-J snarls at the soldier, but the soldier points his gun. In fact, all of them aim their guns at 049-J.  


“Stand down,” the soldier that first spoke orders. “Or you, too, will be terminated.”  


(F/N) pants softly and looks at 049-J nearly pleadingly. Alpha grabs the plague doctor and pulls him back with a shake of her head. (F/N) stares at Alpha in shock, but Alpha doesn’t bat an eye. The soldier suddenly grabs (F/N)’s arm in a taut, gloved hand. He jerks (F/N) to their feet and (F/N) snarls at the soldier. They try to pull away, but the soldier’s strength supersedes theirs. He pulls them a few feet away as he fights against (F/N)’s struggles.  


(F/N) looks toward Alpha. “Alpha!” they yell. Alpha watches (F/N), but she keeps her hands in the air. She does not move. (F/N) kicks at the soldier and writhes in his grasp. The soldier grunts and then throws them on the ground. (F/N) yelps and the soldier pulls their arms behind their back. (F/N) writhes like a fish until the soldier finally drives a knee into their back, which pins their arms. The soldier points the rifle at (F/N)’s head and the nuzzle caresses the back of (F/N)’s head.  


(F/N) cries out angrily and pleadingly glances between Alpha and 096. 096 continues to sob, and doesn’t bat an eye. However, Alpha stares at (F/N) -- and despite a mask covering her face, (F/N) can feel the intensity in her eyes. (F/N) barely glimpses a flash of gold in her eyes. Alpha lowers her arms as the building shudders a bit more violently.  


The soldier on top of (F/N) loses balance slightly from the shaking. He grunts and then regains his position.  


“Σκοτώστε τους!” Alpha screams.  


(F/N) snaps their gaze toward Alpha -- then the wall beside them and the soldier crumbles with an explosive force. (F/N) screams in surprise as concrete and foundation flies over them, and a force knocks the soldier off their back. Through their fingers, (F/N) can see the remaining soldiers fire above (F/N) in a panic as Alpha ushers 049-J away. (F/N) suddenly sees pale, fanged jaws made of bone snap a nearby soldier. The soldier screams and the beast behind (F/N) roars.  


The NTF soldiers yell and continue to fire. Air suddenly rushes over (F/N), and a massive green, scaly tail whips at the soldiers. The soldiers fly back and scream. The tail sways back and Alpha ducks underneath the appendage -- 049-J does not duck in time and falls when the hard-scaled tail hits him.  


(F/N) sits up slightly and watches as a giant, zombie-like, green lizard snaps it’s skull-like jaws at more soldiers. Its fangs and bite force kills them instantly. (F/N) recoils at the sight of the giant, crocodile-like lizard. (F/N) looks at it’s black markings, the black mane behind its neck that droops to the floor. It’s eyes glint a fiery amber. The most noticeable feature of this anomaly -- its massive wings perched atop its scaly scutes on its back. Three, clawed fingers protrude from the arms of the wings, and in its right wing, it clutches the microcomputer 079.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in this universe, he has wings :).

**Author's Note:**

> References:  
> (F/N) = First Name  
> (M/N) = Middle Name  
> (L/N) = Last Name  
> (N/N) = Nickname  
> (he/she) & (him/her) = choose your gender  
> (e/c) = eye color  
> (h/c) = hair color  
> (h/l) = hair length  
> (s/c) = skin color  
> (f/c) = favorite color  
> (f/f) = favorite food  
> (f/w) = favorite weapon  
> (f/q) = favorite quote  
> (sh/c) = shirt color  
> (p/c) = pants color  
> (se/c) = shoe color  
> (se/B) = shoe brand  
> ([g/B], [k/B], [s/B]) = gun brand, knife brand, or sword brand (including daggers)


End file.
